^x-^*^> 


Y  (Afej  C^pjf>^*~+*«3 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

BY 

WILL  PHILLIP  HOOPER 

AND 

W.  W.  DENSLOW 


AN   UNTOLD   TALE 

BY 
WILL    PHILLIP    HOOPER 


AN  AWKWARD  MEETING 
FIGHTING  THE  TIGER 

AND  OTHER 

THRILLING  ADVENTURES 


TOLD   BY 


COL.  R.   H.  SAVAGE 


AUTHOR  OP 


"MY  OFFICIAL  WIFE,"  "AN  EXILE  FROM  LONDON,"  ETC. 


NEW  YORK 
THE    HOME    PUBLISHING    COMPANY 


Copyright,  1897, 
By    A.    C.    GUNTER. 

All  rights  rtttrnd. 


CONTENTS. 


By  Will  Phillip  Hooper.  pagh 

An  Untold  Tale 7 

By  Richard  Henry  Savage. 

An  Awkward  Meeting 21 

The  Pool  of  Death 43 

The  Pirate  of  Williams  Landing 63 

The  White  Indian 83 

Snowed  In ">i 

With  the  Caribs  off  Ruatan  Island 121 

Fighting  the  Tiger 139 

A  Hunt  in  Corea J55 

Boy  Against  Grizzly *77 

Why  the  Mail  Came  Late 193 

The  Secret  of  Dr.  Harper's  Cabinet     211 

The  Mystery  of  Sergeant  Armand  Caire 229 

How  We  Court-martialed  Sergeant  Maloney 247 

M109688 


THE    CONTESTANTS    WERE    ALL    FAMOUS    GOLFMEN. 


' 


Will  "PL III ji  HooJ> 

"  Murder."  Yes,  that  was  the  word, 
"Murder,"  clear  and  distinct,  that  stood 
out  in  quaint  old  script  on  the  new  sheet 
of  writing  paper  I  had  been  holding  idly 
in  my  fingers.  In  my  surprise  and  excite- 
ment I  almost  tipped  over  the  table  by  the  side 
of  which  I  was  trying  to  write  a  letter.  This 
paper  I  had  just  brought  home  myself  from  the 
stationer's,  and  while  taking  a  cup  of  tea,  for 
it  was  4  o'clock  on  a  dark  London  day,  I  had  been 
idly  twirling  a  sheet  in  my  hand,  undecided 
whether  to  begin  my  letter  Dearest  or  Darling, 
when  this  word  "  Murder  "  suddenly  caught  my 
eyes,  and  as  I  scrutinized  it  more  closely,  it  slowly 
faded  into  oblivion. 

I  was  seated  by  the  grate.  It  was  one  of  the 
first  cold  days,  when  a  cheerful  open  fire  seems 
the  most  comforting  thing  in  the  world,  and  I  was 
sipping  a  cup  of  tea  from  a  genuine  George  II.  tea- 
pot. 

Ah,  what  a  hunt  I  had  to  find  this  antique  treas- 
ure !  Day  after  day  and  week  after  week  I  had 
haunted    the    old    bric-a-brac    shops.     Wardour 


8  AN     UNTOLD    TALE 

Street,  with  its  modern  antique  furniture  and 
"  hall-marked "  relics,  I  knew  from  stem  to 
stern.  Upper  Oxford  Street,  with  its  big  and 
little  silver  stores,  to  White  Chapel  Road,  all  had  I 
explored.  The  silversmiths  on  the  Strand  and 
the  curiosity  shops  on  High  Holborn  were  equally 
familiar  to  me.  I  could  even  go  without  a  wrong 
turn  from  Phillips's  little  shop  on  Oxford  Street  to 
his  big  store  on  Thayer  Street,  but  I  felt  well  re- 
warded for  my  trouble,  my  interesting,  fascinating 
trouble. 

To  be  sure,  my  urn  had  several  dents  in  its 
beautifully  engraved  sides.  One  dent  in  particular 
was  almost  fatal  to  its  graceful  symmetry,  but  this 
only  added  to  its  interest  to  me,  and  tea  had  never 
tasted  as  good,  never  smelled  as  aromatic,  never 
looked  as  golden,  as  when  it  flowed  from  the  deli- 
cate spout  of  my  "  find." 

But  how  did  that  frightful  word  come  on  my 
writing  paper  ?  While  still  puzzling  over  it,  hold- 
ing it  to  the  candle-light,  the  steam  from  my  silver 
teapot  struck  on  the  page;  in  a  second,  as  the  hot 
vapor  spread  against  the  sheet,  the  word  "  murder  " 
again  became  visible,  and  while  I  held  it  there, 
other  words  became  clear. 

With  trembling  fingers  I  moved  the  paper  in 
front  of  the  nose  of  the  steaming  spout,  and  writ- 
ing quickly  appeared  on  the  whole  paper.  (It  is 
explained  later  on  why  the  old  English  style  in 
which  the  story  then  was  first  told  is  not  retained 
here.) 

These  were  the  lines  : 


AN     UNTOLD     TALE 


"'  Murder '—yes,  there  is  no  other  word  tor  it, 
and  I  was  the  unwilling  agent.  It  was  not  I  who 
struck  the  blow.  'Twas  not  1  who  drove  the 
poisoned  dagger  to  its  hilt,  but  I  caused  it  all. 


That  is  why  I  never  sing — ah,  it  is  a  great  relief, 
late  as  it  is,  almost  two  hundred  years  now,  since 
the  fearful  crime,  to  unburden  myself  of  the  dread 
secret." 


IO  AN    UNTOLD    TALE 

I  was  almost  paralyzed  with  amazement  as  the 
lines  rapidly  filled  the  paper,  but  as  I  snatched  a 
second  sheet  and  held  it  to  the  nose  of  the  myste- 
rious silver  urn,  the  writing  continued,  but  it 
seemed  weaker  and  more  straggly,  and  an  idea 
seized  me.  I  rushed  to  the  closet,  took  out  a  pinch 
of  tea,  dropped  it  into  the  pot.  The  effect  was 
magical ;  the  writing  at  once  became  firm  and  dis- 
tinct. 

The  narrative  continued. 

"  It  was  a  gift  to  the  Duchess  of "  (name  is 

forgotten).  "  How  well  I  remember  my  first  intro- 
duction to  her  presence.  Queenly?  Well,  she 
looked  as  if  she'd  been  brought  up  on  thrones  and 
tea.  But  ah,  what  a  contrast  when  she  was  in  her 
retiring  room,  with  only  her  serving  maids  and 
me  to  listen — but  that  was  neither  here  nor  there 
— she  was  called  the  handsomest  woman  in  the 
Court  of  King  George. 

"  Her  mother  was  the  famous  orange  woman, 
titled  by  George  II.  in  one  of  his  freaks,  and  beauty 
seemed  to  be  her  only  desirable  inheritance.  But 
to  stick  to  my  story,  at  the  time  I  first  entered  her 
presence  she  was  at  her  toilet  table — the  barber 
doing  her  hair  while  the  beaux  and  dignitaries  of 
the  court  were  paying  homage  to  her  in  their 
morning  call. 

"  It  seems  I  was  presented  by  Sir  John " 

(name  was  unreadable  in  the  original  writing), 
"  and  her  delight  on  receiving  me  was  most  gratify- 
ing to  my  vanity  and  a  proof  of  her  good  taste — and 


AN    UNTOLD    TALE 


12  AN    UNTOLD    TALE 

such  tea  as  we  had  in  those  old  days — why,  I 
haven't  had  real  genuine  tea  put  into  me  for  over 
a  hundred  years." 

(This  was  discouraging — here  I  was  paying 
$1.25  per  pound  for  tea  and  everybody  pro- 
nounced it  perfect.  Notwithstanding  the  in- 
vidious remarks  of  the  teapot,  1  found  the  writing 
always  braced  up  after  I'd  cast  in  a  pinch  more  of 
my  despised  herb.) 

"  Well,"  continued  the  writing,  "  with  my  ob- 
servation — '  putting  my  nose  into  other  people's 
business,'  as  the  sugar  bowl  used  to  say  of  me — I 
soon  saw  Sir  John  had  a  formidable  rival  for  the 
affections  of  the  Duchess— in  the  person  of  Baron 
Lovelace,  a  younger,  not  to  say  a  finer  and  better 
looking  man,  and  fortunately,  as  I  soon  found  out, 
he  was  in  high  favor  with  the  King  on  account  of 
his  skill  as  a  golf  player,  but  of  this  later. 

"  What  bright,gay,  joyous  occasions  these  morn- 
ing calls  used  to  be,  to  which  I  contributed  my 
share  of  brilliancy,  shining  as  only  new  silver  can 
shine  and  invigorating  every  one  with  the  best 
that  was  in  me. 

"  Having  no  newspaper  in  those  days,  the  con- 
versation at  these  gatherings  resembled  the  gossip 
column  in  a  modern  society  paper — ah,  those  were 
times  worth  living  !     But  to  my  story. 

"To  make  the  breach  between  the  two  rivals  still 
wider,  they  were  on  opposite  sides  in  a  long  and 
hotly  contested  game  of  golf.  The  game  lasted 
nearly  two  weeks  and  the  excitement  over  it  in 


AN     UNTOLD     TALE  I 3 

the  Court  circles  was  more  than  you  can  imagine  ; 
talk  about  a  tempest  in  a  teapot,  why  a  teapot 
does  have  trials,  but  to  see  grown  men,  and  ladies 
too,  become  so  excited  over  a  game,  simply  makes 
me  boil  over  at  the  remembrance.  Why,  they 
would  get  so  angry,  simply  talking  over  the  score 
at  the  morning  reception  in  our  dressing-room, 
that  the  hot  refreshing  cups  of  tea  I  was  serving 
out  would  be  neglected,  till  it  was  cold,  then  I  of 
course  was  blamed. 

"  I  did  not  witness  any  of  the  golf  games  myself 
nor  did  I  want  to ;  the  talk  of  it  was  tiresome 
enough  to  make  a  teapot  explode,  which  I  es- 
caped doing  by  letting  off  steam." 

(As  this  tirade  went  on,  the  writing  became  so 
irregular  and  indistinct  that  several  lines  were 
entirely  unreadable.  I  hastily  threw  in  another 
spoonful  of  tea,  and  when  the  words  again  became 
legible  it  was  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence  :) 

" black  and  blue,  and  other  discolorations, 

which  showed  me  he  had  suffered  in  the  argu- 
ment. All  these  bits  I  gleaned  the  morning  after 
the  celebrated  contest  was  ended.  His  royal 
majesty"  (whenever  the  King  was  mentioned,  great 
wreaths  of  steam,  almost  like  incense,  issued  from 
the  nose  of  the  loyal  teapot)  "  had  won  an  unusual 
amount  of  gold  on  his  wager  on  the  golf  tourna- 
ment. The  contestants  were  all  famous  golfmen, 
but  the  King  "  (wreaths  of  steam)  "  had  heavily 
backed  Lovelace,  and  when  the  earnings  were 
gathered  into  the  royal  pocket,  the  Baron  was  in  a 


AN     UNTOLD     TALE  15 

position  to  obtain  almost  any  royal  favor,  and  he- 
was  not  slow  to  avail  himself  of  the  opportunity. 

"  I  gradually  discovered  one  attraction,  in  fact, 
the  attraction  Sir  John  had  in  the  eyes  of  our 
Duchess.  Oh,  my  dent — my  memory  has  never 
been  the  same  since  I  received  that  terrible  fall — 
where  did  I  leave  off?  Yes,  the  Duchess;  you 
see  she  was  not  as  rich  as  she  seemed  (or  else  she 
was  of  a  grasping  disposition),  any  way,  she  was 
pulling  every  string  to  get  the  King  "  (more  wreaths 
of  steam — perhaps  I  should  say  esteem)  "  to  bestow 
on  her  a  certain  grant  of  land  which  had  lately 
reverted  to  the  Crown,  and  Sir  John  had  led  her 
to  believe  that  his  influence  could  bring  this  about, 
which  he  claimed  he  would  do  on  her  promising 
him  her  hand. 

"Ah,  how  well  I  remember  this  interview  !  how 
the  old  courtier  raved  and  tore  and  promised  and 
swore  ;  they  were  so  vehement  in  those  days — 
the  soldiers — and  the  lady,  how  she  weighed  it  all 
in  the  balance  as  she  tilted  a  spoon  on  the  edge  of 
her  cup,  quite  forgetting  the  fragrant  tea  that  I 
had  so  liberally  poured  out. 

"  But   Lovelace,   too,   knew  of   her   ambitions. 

"Suddenly — oh,  my  dent,  what  was  I  saying? 
this  exciting  memory  is  almost  too  much — sud- 
denly, as  my  lady  seemed  on  the  point  of  giving 
her  consent  to  Sir  John,  a  servant  hurried  in  fol- 
lowed closely  by  Lovelace. 

"  The  black  and  blue  spot  on  the  face  of  Sir  John 
seemed   to  turn   purple  at  the  interruption  at  this 


I 6  AN     UNTOLD     TALE 

critical  moment,  and  the  presence  of  his  rival  threw 
him  into  a  speechless  rage. 

11  But  the  Baron,  utterly  ignoring  his  presence 
kneeled  at  the  lady's  feet,  and  in  a  voice  almost 
choked  with  joy  told  her  that  the  King  "  (steam),  "in 
his  gratitude  at  the  result  of  the  golf  contest,  had 
given  him  the  coveted  grants,  which  he  hastened 
to  lay  at  my  lady's  feet. 

"  With  a  bound  Sir  John  sprang  from  a  chair,  a 
drawn  dagger  in  his  hand,  and  in  one  second  it 
was  buried  to  its  hilt " 

At  this  point  the  writing,  which  was  growing 
more  and  more  indistinct  as  the  excitement  in- 
creased, became  totally  indecipherable. 

I  sprang  up  for  more  tea  ;  in  my  hurry  and  ner- 
vousness the  teapot  was  knocked  off  the  table  ;  it 
fell  with  a  terrible  thud  on  the  sharp  corner  of  the 
brass  fender.  In  a  /moment  it  was  in  my  grasp, 
but  alas,  there  was  a  deep  incision  in  its  base, 
through  which  the  tea,  now  almost  blood-like  in 
color,  was  bursting  forth. 

I  tried  every  way  that  ingenuity  would  sug- 
gest to  close  up  the  wound,  so  as  to  refill  the 
mysterious  urn  and  obtain  the  sequel  of  the  tale. 

Every  expedient  failed. 

Finally  I  pull  aside  the  window  curtain — threw 
open  the  shutters;  the  first  streak  of  dawn  was  just 
tinting  the  sky.  Impatiently  I  waited,  and  soon 
as  the  sun  was  up  I  rushed  out,  the  teapot  under 
my  arm. 

I  found  a  little  silversmith's  shop,  and  pounded 


l8  AN     UNTOLD     TALE 

at  the  store  door  till  the  proprietor  s  sleepy  head 
appeared  at  the  window  above. 

My  offer  of  twenty  shillings,  instead  of  hasten- 
ing his  leaden  feet,  made  him  suspect  he  had  a 
lunatic  for  a  customer — and  the  window  was 
slammed. 

Finally  I  met  with  success,  the  fracture  was 
carefully  mended,  but  the  new  dent  still  remained. 
I  rushed  home — not  a  soul  in  the  house  was  stirr- 
ing. I  fixed  up  the  fire,  heated  water,  threw  a 
strong  dose  of  tea  into  the  old  silver  teapot, 
poured  in  the  boiling  water,  grabbed  a  sheet  of 
paper,  held  it  breathless  to  the  steam,  and  waited. 

Ah !  gradually  it  warmed  up  to  the  subject,  the 
paper  became  moist,  straining  every  nerve  my 
throbbing  eyes  devoured  the  page. 

Yes — a  few  faint  lines  slowly  appeared  irregu- 
larly, wavering — and  totally  unreadable.  Hour 
after  hour  I  worked  over  the  poor  old  dented  urn. 
I  rubbed  it.  I  washed  it.  I  poured  all  kinds  of 
strengthening  mixtures  into  it.  I  even  tried  to 
pound  out  the  latest  cruel  dent  in  its  engraved 
sides — but  of  no  avail. 

The  next  night  at  the  same  hour  I  again  tried 
to  get  the  writing  resumed.  'Twas  useless,  and 
never  have  I  been  able  to  obtain  another  in- 
telligible word  from  my  wonderful  treasure. 

But  a  disappointment  almost  as  great  was  yet 
to  come.  When  I  gathered  up  the  pages  of  the 
steam-written  story  not  a  line  of  the  quaint  old 
writing  was  to  be  seen ;  hold  it  as  I  would  in  all 


AN     UNTOLD     TALE 


*9 


20  AN     UNTOLD    TALE 

lights,  under  the  strongest  glasses,  and  with  dif- 
ferent acid  tests,  not  a  word  could  be  brought 
back. 

So  the  main  charm  of  the  story — its  peculiar  old 
expressions,  its  early  English  words,  and  flowery 
rhetoric — all  are  lost. 

Finally,  I've  written  out  the  legend  as  best  I 
could  from  memory  and  leave  it  to  wiser  heads 
than  mine  to  fathom  the  mystery.  I  can  simply 
show  the  beautiful,  old  dented  teapot  as  my  only 
witness. 


AN  AWKWARD  MEETING 


BY 


RICHARD  HENRY  SAVAQE 


I    SAW    ONCE    OR    TWICE    THE    GLEAM    OF    WHITE    AND    YELLOW 


AN  AWKWARD  MEETING. 


I  can  look  back  now  and  see  the  anxious  faces 
of  a  score  of  hardy  Californians  gathered  around 
the  fireplace  of  a  huge  log  cabin,  on  the  banks  of 
Soquel  Creek,  in  that  memorable  winter  of  "  sixty- 
two." 

Forty  days  and  forty  nights  of  unexampled  tem- 
pest and  storm  had  realized  the  worst  anticipa- 
tions of  property  owners,  and  disaster  and  ruin 
reigned  over  the  whole  Golden  State  !  The  cap- 
ital city,  Sacramento,  was  inundated,  all  business 
was  paralyzed  in  these  ante-railroad  days,  the 
crops  of  the  interior  valleys  were  destroyed,  the 
broad  plains  covered  with  dying  herds,  and,  every 
water  runlet  of  the  State  was  a  raging  river. 

Fenced  in  with  the  Sierra  Nevadas  and  the 
Coast  Range,  with  a  loop  of  mountains  closing 
the  North  and  South,  California  was  isolated. 
Travel  was  impossible,  the  mails  were  cut  off, 
stage  roads  were  obliterated,  and  only  a  few 
steamers  moving  on  the  Sacramento  and  San 
Joaquin,  kept  up  a  semblance  of  commercial  move- 
ment. 

Mining  was  impossible   in  the  Sierras,  and  for- 


24  AN    AWKWARD    MEETING 

tunes  were  swept  away  by  the  remorseless  and 
vindictive  floods.  With  desperate  efforts  the 
eastern  telegraph  and  overland  mails  were  kept 
partly  open,  and,  to  the  loyalists  of  a  State  about 
evenly  divided  between  North  and  South,  the  de- 
pressing news  of  continued  Union  disasters 
brought  the  last  touch  of  misery  to  stern  men, 
almost  ready  to  "  throw  up  the  sponge." 

To  the  Committee  on  Ways  and  Means  gathered 
around  that  blazing  hearth,  the  council  of  the 
night  was  a  momentous  one.  A  dozen  buildings, 
with  an  extensive  sawmill,  were  hemmed  in  at  the 
forks  of  Soquel  and  Williams  Creeks,  in  the  Santa 
Cruz  mountains.  The  huge  forty-foot  mill  wheel 
was  anchored  to  the  mill  and  a  dozen  huge  red- 
woods, with  chains,  cables,  and  all  available  fast- 
enings. 

The  proprietor's  pretty  cottage  contained  his 
«amily  of  a  wife  and  two  younger  children,  who 
had  watched  in  these  days  of  storm  their  beautiful 
gardens  swept  away,  in  dismay.  To  the  west, 
Soquel  Creek,  a  purling  trout  stream,  was  now 
running  fifty  feet  deep,  and  the  hugest  iron-clad 
might  have  been  swept  away  like  a  lost  buoy,  on 
that  raging  yellow  flood.  The  coast  Sierras  rise 
up  five  thousand  feet  on  that  side,  barring  off 
help  from  Santa  Clara  Valley  forty  miles  away. 
To  the  east,  the  great  spurs  of  the  same  Sierras 
rose  up  in  awful  majesty,  barring  off  any  aid  from 
the  Pajaro  Valleys. 

It  was  but  ten  miles  to  the  sea,  at  the    little 


AN    AWKWARD    MEETING  25 

port  of  Soquel,  on  Santa  Cruz  Bay,  but  no  human 
ingenuity  could  devise  a  means  of  crossing  the 
doubled  waters  of  the  creeks  to  the  south. 

To  the  north,  ending  at  the  little  plateau,  where 
the  twenty  workmen  and  their  employer's  family 
were  beleaguered,  was  a  spinal  ridge,  extending 
between  the  two  creeks,  and  losing  itself  after 
twenty  miles  in  the  huge  natural  fortifications  of 
grim  Loma  Prieta,  thirty  miles  away. 

The  canyons  and  inner  regions  of  Santa  Cruz 
County  were  settled  then  only  by  a  few  uncouth 
Western  and  Southwestern  squatters,  who,  at  this 
period,  were  waging  a  sporadic  private  war,  with 
revolver  and  rifle,  and  finishing  up  quarrels,  begun 
years  before  on  the  Missouri  and  Kansas  bounda- 
ries. A  wild,  lonely  region  was  the  great  Soquel 
Augmentacion  Ranch,  a  territory  large  enough  for 
a  foreign  duke's  domain.  It  stretched  from  Wat- 
sonville  to  Loma  Prieta,  from  the  little  village  of 
Soquel,  near  the  sea,  to  the  summit  of  the  San 
Jose  divide. 

Nature's  boldest  handiwork  was  seen  in  this 
miniature  Switzerland,  and  the  hills  and  canyons 
were  clad  with  the  forest  primeval.  Huge  red- 
woods, magnificent  firs  and  oaks,  superb  ma- 
dronas,  pines  and  cottonwoods,  maples  and  stone 
pines  were  the  unspoiled  riches  of  this  beautiful 
solitude.  The  little  clearings  were  occupied  by 
the  Pike  County  marauders  and  their  northwest- 
ern foes,  the  "  dim  forest  arches "  hid  the  abun- 
dant game  of  a  hunter's  paradise,  and  the  creeks 


26  AN    AWKWARD    MEETING 

teemed  with  salmon  and  delicious  trout.  To  a 
city  boy,  released  from  academic  toil,  this  wild  re- 
gion was  a  paradise  of  wonders.  From  fourteen 
to  sixteen,  I  found  nature's  magic  in  the  breath 
of  these  mountains,  the  superb  ozone-laden  air  of 
the  dim  canyons.  A  wonderful  Nimrod  and  "  a 
mighty  hunter  before  the  Lord,"  was  Johnny 
White,  the  Missouri  boy  of  eighteen,  who  was  my 
"  dhuine-wassail,"  and  taught  me  every  art  of 
woodcraft.  One  of  seven  sons,  who  nearly  all 
perished  by  border  feud,  or  who  drifted  east  to 
get  killed  with  "  Pop  Price  "  in  old  Missouri.  He 
knew  every  bit  of  forest  lore,  and  made  me  as  good 
a  mountaineer,  and  finally,  even  a  bit  better  rifle 
shot  than  himself. 

He  taught  me  the  arts  of  the  "  shekarry  "  which 
have  stood  me  in  stead,  in  later  years,  over  four 
continents,  and  half  the  time  we  were  absent  from 
our  domicils,  camping  in  the  untracked  forest. 

It  was  the  golden  flood  tide  of  youth,  when  I 
had  "  time  to  burn,"  and  the  huge  rancho  seemed 
to  me  to  be  only  a  hunting  park  for  my  especial 
benefit,  and  Johnny  White,  my  man  Friday.  I 
bribed  him  with  stores  of  ammunition  and  stray 
half  dollars  to  desert  all  useful  pursuits  and,  as  he 
expressed  it,  "  make  a  man  of  me." 

I  can  see  this  tow-headed  borderer  yet,  toasting 
venison  on  a  ramrod,  by  the  fire,  in  our  little  biv- 
ouac, or  broiling  the  trout  that  we  had  twitched 
from  the  pools,  while  I  lay  upon  the  drifted  leaves 
and  read  to  him  "  Ivanhoe,"  or  bits  of  the  sad  mis- 


AN    AWKWARD    MEETING  27 

adventures  of  Philip  Wakem  and  rich- hearted  Mag- 
gie Tulliver,  from  a  stray  copy  of  the  "  Mill  on 
the  Floss."  Johnny  and  I  agreed  on  hunting  as 
the  main  object  of  man's  career  here  below,  with 
riding  a  bucking  horse,  as  an  extra  touch  to  a 
polite  education,  but,  he  insisted  that  I  should 
skip  all,  but  the  "  fighting  parts  "  of  the  books — 
and — alas!  I  went  in  for  sentiment  even  then! 
But,  we  compromised  on  "  Charley  O'Malley"! 
In  return  for  my  literary  tuition,  he  taught  me  to 
play  poker,  California  Jack,  and  to  sing  his  reper- 
toire of  quaint  old  Missouri  ballads  and  songs  of 
the  frontier  squatters.  I  recall  "  Barbara  Allen," 
and,  a  doleful  lament  over  the  death  of  "  Mike 
Fink,  the  Boatman."  If  Johnny  has  sought  the 
other  shores,  peace  to  his  ashes  !  He  was  to  me 
a  human  marvel,  for  he  could  make  biscuits,  and 
I  have  often  wratched  him,  with  gnawing  pangs  of 
envy,  for  I  never  crossed  that  pons  asinornm.  My 
culinary  career  stopped  at  flap-jacks.  I  stole  bot- 
tles of  molasses  from  the  family  stores  to  reward 
Johnny  White  for  "  extra  effort,"  and,  with  that 
succulent  unguent,  wre  did  succeed  in  making 
way  with  his  "  short-range,"  dead-shot,  camp- 
made  hot  bombshells. 

On  the  particular  night  of  the  conference  in  the 
log  cabin,  I  was  an  eager  listener.  The  one  head 
of  a  family  was  comforting  his  frightened  house- 
hold, for  without,  the  storm  howled  in  all  its  fury. 

The  long  rains  had  loosened  the  soil  upon  the 
mountain  sides,  and  at  intervals  of  a  few  minutes, 


28  AN    AWKWARD    MEETING 

the  heaviest  monster  trees  came  sliding  down  the 
steep  slopes,  falling  over  into  the  canyons  with 
the  thundering  boom  of  Gettysburg's  artillery. 
The  great  double  log  cabin  was  builded  of  squared 
logs,  eighteen  inches  thick,  and  heavily  pinned  at 
the  corners.  The  triple-laid  roof  of  "shakes" 
was  proof  against  the  wildest  storms  of  this  snow- 
less  land,  and  the  one  burning  question  before  the 
council  was  that  of  food. 

It  was  a  serious  one,  for  with  the  exception  of 
a  few  family  supplies  in  the  proprietor's  cottage 
the  larder  was  empty,  only  a  half-barrel  of  salt 
pork  remaining.  The  chicken,  sheep,  and  pigs  of 
the  little  delta  had  disappeared  in  the  four  weeks' 
siege.  The  fifty  oxen  of  the  mill  had  been  swept 
away  by  the  flood  or  lain  down  sadly  to  drown 
in  the  flooded  corrals.  The  two  huge  stacks  of 
hay  garnered  up  had  gone  "down  the  river"  with 
the  barns.  A  pretty  cow  had  been  slaughtered, 
and  now  two  pet  dogs  and  a  canary  bird  were 
the  only  live  animals  upon  the  cut-off  delta.  The 
flour  was  almost  exhausted  and  twenty  brawny 
lumbermen  have  "  growing  appetites." 

The  disheartened  proprietor  had  seen  a  fortune 
in  sawed  lumber  whirled  away  down  the  insatiate 
flood.  Only  one  horse  remained  of  all  the  stock. 
The  mill  was  filled  solid  with  stones  and  gravel, 
and  the  wheel  had  to  be  later  dug  out  of  fifteen 
feet  of  concrete.  The  river  bed  for  a  mile  had  to 
be  lowered  to  begin  operations  when  all  the  water 
buckets  of  the  gods  were  emptied. 


AN    AWKWARD    MEETING  2<; 

But,  money  loss,  business  ruin,  and  family  trou 
bles  paled  before  the  cold  practical  question  of 
possible  starvation.  The  terrific  mountains  tow- 
ered up  behind  to  the  north.  It  was  eighty  miles 
across  two  mountain  ranges  with  impassable  tor- 
rents to  Los  Gatos.  None  but  the  bravest  moun- 
taineers could  hope  to  ever  breast  these  trackless 
hills  in  good  weather,  and  now  the  greasy  chap- 
paral  clasped  eveiything  with  hooked  thorns. 
The  refined  wife  of  the  mill-owner,  the  two  tender 
children  prisoned  there,  were  hostages  to  fortune. 

The  council  was  a  long  and  earnest  one.  For 
days,  attempts  had  been  made  to  open  communi- 
cation with  the  tribe  of  Whites  on  the  west  bank 
of  the  now  mighty  Soquel.  Old  "  Pop  White," 
bare-breasted  and  nimble  at  seventy-five,  was  seen 
across  the  raging  flood  with  his  stalwart  guerrilla 
guard,  "Morris,"  "  Abe,"  "  Luther,"  "  Bill," 
"  Sam,"  "  Dan'l,"  and  last  but  not  least,  that  admir- 
able Crichton  of  all  youthful  "  Pikes,"  the  tow- 
headed  dead-shot  Johnny. 

Our  whole  party,  headed  by  "  Dad  "  Hall,  the 
head  sawyer,  had  exhausted  every  trick  and  arti- 
fice in  vain  attempts  to  open  communication,  un- 
til finally,  Johnny  the  hunter  shot  over  a  wiping 
stick  from  his  big-bore,  Mississippi  yager,  to  the 
cleft,  in  the  head  of  which,  was  attached  a  note 
scrawled  upon  an  old  bit  of  newspaper  and 
wrapped  up  in  a  bit  of  buckskin. 

There  was  a  chorus  of  cheers  as  I  read  out  the 
words,  "  We  have  fifty  fifty-pound  bags  of  flour, 


30  AN    AWKWARD    MEETING 

our  winter  food.  If  you  can  find  a  place  above 
you,  to  cross  the  Soquel,  we  will  pack  the  flour 
up  there  on  our  horses,  and  you  can  bring  what 
you  want  down  on  your  side.  Somebody  must 
go  up  the  mountain,  and  come  down  along  your 
side  of  the  river.  There  may  be  a  log  jam  or  a 
bridge  of  trees  somewhere.  That's  the  only  chance 
to  get  anything  over  to  you.  The  creek  will  not 
be  fordable  for  four  weeks  yet." 

It  took  us  several  hours  to  exchange  our  mes- 
sages, and  the  whole  circle,  gathered  around  the 
fire  on  that  wild  winter  night,  were  busied  with  the 
selection  of  a  first  pioneer  to  reconnoiter  the  great 
canyon  of  the  Soquel. 

The  twenty  men  were  a  strangely  assorted 
gang,  though  living  in  brotherly  peace.  The  log- 
gers and  axemen  were  Maine  and  Michigan  men. 
The  teamsters  were  Missourians.  An  old  ex- 
French  Zouave,  a  cook  of  the  same  giddy  race, 
and  three  or  four  mechanics,  made  up  a  pretty  fair 
lot  of  workmen.  Even  then,  the  fierce  passions 
of  the  war  were  kindling  bitter  animosities.  Big 
Jim  Hall  died  later,  a  captain  before  Atlanta,  and 
the  good-humored  young  fellow  who  made  me  an 
expert  trout  catcher  stole  away  to  cross  the  Gila 
desert  and  become  a  bloodthirsty  guerrilla,  whose 
very  name  made  Union  officers  tremble  behind 
their  lines  of  sentinels. 

The  old  cabin  has  crumbled  to  ruin,  the  very 
mills  have  disappeared,  and  the  face  of  nature  is 
changed    to-day — but    on    that    March   night   of 


AN    AWKWARD    MEETING  3  I 

"sixty-two"  it  was  a  Bret  Harte  throng  which 
listened  to  every  man's  proposals.  The  two  great 
tables  were  cleared  off;  one  was  covered  with 
old  weeklies  and  the  "  illustrated  journals,"  and 
at  the  other,  a  squad  of  the  elite  played  euchre 
and  dropped  a  wisely  put  point  now  and  then, 
through  the  clouds  of  tobacco  smoke.  A  hearty, 
cheery,  good-humored  band  of  fellows  they  were, 
and  not  a  blow  nor  a  drunken  spree  had  marked 
the  past  two  years. 

"  Long  Eben"  Wright,  the  neatest  axeman  who 
ever  dropped  a  two-hundred  foot  redwood  just 
on  the  line  for  loading,  drawTled  out  at  last,  "  Why 
don't  ye  send  him  ! "  pointing  toward  me,  with  a 
calloused  thumb.  "  He's  roved  over  every  inch 
of  these  yere  mountains  ;  he's  feared  o'  nothing. 
He's  strong  and  light  o'  foot.  He  kin  make  the 
trip  in  half  the  time  we  heavier  men  kin.  I  sus- 
picion wre'll  all  have  to  take  the  tramp,  and  each 
of  us  pack  a  sack  of  flour  back  on  our  shoulders. 
I  carried  one  four  hundred  miles  up  the  Fraser 
River  in  fifty-eight.     I  kin  do  it  ag'in." 

"  Eben,  ye're  right !  "  said  Big  Jim  Hall,  refill- 
ing his  pipe.  "  The  boy  must  keep  on  the  highest 
ground  and  skirt  the  whole  river.  I'm  feared  the 
river  has  cut  into  the  banks  along  our  side,  so  the 
horse  could  not  get  up,  along  our  side.  Let  him 
find  a  log  jam  or  a  tree  bridge,  even  if  it's  ten 
miles  up.  We  must  do  something  for  the  boss. 
He  is  ruined,  as  it  is.  We  are  eating  him  out  of 
house  and  home. 


32  AN    AWKWARD    MEETING 

"  The  Whites  have  got  plenty  of  horses.  If  we 
find  a  place,  they  can  pack  ten  or  twenty  sacks  of 
flour  up  there,  and  I'll  marshal  the  hull  detach- 
ment, and  we  will  pack  it  down  the  ridge,  and  we 
can  make  a  shift  for  three  or  four  weeks  more." 

"  Yes,"  said  Billy  James,  "and,  the  Whites  can 
get  down  to  Porter's  store  at  Soquel,  and  fetch  us 
up  some  supplies.  I  vote  that  we  all  put  in  a 
month's  pay,  and  make  a  present  of  it  to  the  boss, 
for  our  keep."  The  generous  proposition  was 
loudly  applauded,  and  passed  "  nem  con." 

In  half  an  hour,  I  had  received  the  persona 
counsels  of  the  whole  Log  Cabin  Club.  My  heart 
bounded  with  pride  at  being  selected  as  the  fitting 
one  for  the  quest.  A  paternal  sanction  was  easily 
gained  and  the  remainder  of  the  evening  was 
passed  in  preparations  for  an  early  departure. 

The  good-humored  help  of  the  entire  party  was 
offered  to  me.  A  well-greased  pair  of  logger's 
boots,  a  double  jeans  hunting  jerkin,  a  pair  of 
corduroy  trousers,  were  my  climbing  clothes, 
while  a  hunter's  pouch  carried  ammunition  and  a 
belt  with  revolver  and  bowie  knife  completed  the 
outfit.  My  pride  was  at  its  height,  when  Big  Jim 
Hall  said,  "  You  can  take  my  Colt's  revolving 
rifle."  This  privilege  had  hitherto  been  denied 
me,  and  such  deer,  wild  cats,  and  coyote  as  I  had 
killed  had  been  slaughtered  with  a  beautiful  old 
muzzle-loading  Kentucky  rifle,  which  I  had 
learned  to  shoot  with  microscopic  accuracy. 
"Ye   might   run   against   something   up  there, 


AN    AWKWARB    MEETING  33 

boy,"  kindly  said  Hall,  as  he  tossed  over  the  bullet 
molds :  "  Make  up  twenty  or  thirty  slugs  and 
bullets ! "  No  happier  lad  was  alive  in  all  Cali- 
fornia's brown  hills  than  I  as  I  knelt  at  the  glow- 
ing hearth,  and  turned  out  the  slugs  and  round 
balls  from  the  double  mold.  The  bright-faced 
young  fellow  who  helped  me,  in  his  cheery  way, 
lived  to  fire  more  than  the  score  of  balls  we  cast 
into  the  hearts  of  blue-clad  soldiers,  and  poor 
genial  old  Jim  Hall,  dozing  over  his  paper,  little 
dreamed  of  the  red  death  waiting  him  at  Peach 
Tree  Creek  two  years  later. 

The  very  first  person  awake  on  the  water-be- 
leaguered delta  was  myself,  and  a  score  of  affec- 
tionate suggestions  followed  me  to  the  door,  as  I 
grasped  the  well-oiled  Colt's  rifle,  and  cast  a  serious 
glance  at  the  huge  ridge  towering  above  me,  with 
its  giant  trees  swaying  loosely  in  the  wet  wind 
gusts.  A  good-bye  to  father  and  mother  had 
been  hastened  with  the  wild  unrest  of  a  boyish 
heart,  and  it  was  on  the  threshold  of  the  old  cabin 
that  Francois,  the  French  Canadian  cook,  stopped 
me,  "  Spose  you  get  ketched  out  over  night — good 
thing  to  have  some  eat !  "  he  cried,  handing  me  a 
neat  little  haversack,  made  of  a  salt  bag,  and  filled 
with  the  now  precious  cold  biscuit  and  fried  salt 
pork.  His  words  seemed  ominous,  and  I  turned 
back  to  hide  a  box  of  matches  in  the  inner  pocket 
of  my  hunting  shirt,  having  first  dropped  them  in 
a  light  tin  pepper-box. 

In  the  gray  light  of  the  morning,!  strode  away, 


34  AN    AWKWARD    MEETING 

leaving  the  Log  Cabin  Club  to  their  varied  "  kill- 
time  "  occupations.  Some  were  making  furniture, 
some  hewing  out  ox  yokes,  others  mounting 
powder  horns,  the  Card  Club  was  holding  its 
never-ending  session,  and  braiding  whiplashes, 
buckskin  tanning,  fishing-rod  making,  and  a  dozen 
simple  arts  were  all  in  vogue. 

Before  me,  lay  a  task  of  considerable  difficulty. 
The  wooded  ridge  rose  to  six  or  eight  hundred 
feet  and  ran  along  a  half  a  mile  to  a  bold,  bald, 
round  bluff  of  a  thousand  feet  in  height,  this 
second  ascent  leading  to  a  steep  ridge  four  or 
five  miles  long,  with  gloomy  plateaus  of  the 
heaviest  and  densest  uncut  timber,  and  then,  the 
great  mountain  rose  sweeping  far  away,  in  rocky 
knolls  and  timbered  patches,  toward  Loma  Prieta, 
twenty  miles  away. 

In  the  pride  of  my  selection  "  by  unanimous 
consent,"  I  had  dismissed  all  personal  considera- 
tions. To  be  trusted,  to  be  considered  worthy  of 
the  unusual  fatigue  and  the  responsibility,  was  in 
itself  the  honor  of  the  whole  writer's  episode.  And, 
with  my  rifle  lightly  poised,  I  clambered  steadily 
along,  under  the  swaying  trees,  until  an  hour's 
climbing  brought  me  to  the  base  of  the  great  bald 
bluff. 

The  fact  suddenly  dawned  upon  me,  then,  that 
mountain  forays  with  Johnny  White's  cheerful 
face  at  my  side  were  different  from  this  lonely 
quest.  For  the  woods  were  silent.  No  song  of 
bird,   no   scream   of  jay,   no   chatter   of  cheerful 


AN    AWKWARD    MEETING  35 

squirrel  enlivened  the  ghastly  silence  broken  now 
only  by  the  sighing  of  the  wind  and  the  cold  plash 
of  showers  of  water,  lightly  shaken  from  out  the 
gusty  pines.  I  had  avoided  the  trail  along  the 
summit  of  the  ridge,  as  I  skirted  the  side  low 
enough  to  keep  the  great  yellow  flood  in  sight, 
roaring  along  in  the  Soquel  ravine  below. 

Great  uprooted  trees  were  to  be  seen  whirled 
along  on  the  wild  flood  like  chips,  and  hastening 
shoreward  with  a  velocity  equal  to  that  of  a  fast 
steamboat.  There  was  no  sign  of  any  log  jam  or 
crossing  in  the  first  two  or  three  miles.  My  spirits 
sank  as  1  neared  the  great  bald  bluff,  and  I  ex- 
perienced a  distinct  shock  on  gazing  down  into 
the  trail  which  I  had  resumed  and  observing  the 
perfectly  fresh  tracks  of  a  giant  grizzly  bear  ! 
Johnny  White  and  myself  had  often  debated  the 
possibility  of  such  a  rencontre,  and,  with  blanched 
cheeks,  we  had  deferred  the  question  of  what  we 
would  do.  But,  my  teeth  chattered  as  I  observed 
the  platter-shaped  tracks  a  foot  long,  with  the 
heel  prints  in  the  soft  mud  of  the  bare  trail  un- 
affected as  yet  by  the  drizzling  gusts.  And  the 
spoor  was  leading  directly  to  the  bluff  I  was  to 
climb. 

Then,  with  a  surge  away  from  the  heart,  my 
blood  left  me,  and  I  realized  that  the  grim  forests 
were  weird  and  lonely  in  all  the  desolation  of  the 
long-continued  storm.  A  rising  wind  sent  dried 
limbs  dropping  around  in  a  shower,  and  I  refuged 
near  a  huge  trunk,  whose  burned-out  cavity  might 


$6  AN    AWKWARD    MEETING 

have  invited  me  to  rest  longer  but  for  that  bear.  It 
was  now  near  nine  o'clock,  and  I  cautiously  ap- 
proached the  cliff,  rifle  in  hand,  and  at  a  ready.  I 
had  a  dozen  times  debated  the  idea  of  turning  back, 
but  the  false  pride  of  a  hot-hearted  boy  restrained 
me.  The  side-hills  were  covered  with  rotten,  yel- 
low-pine needles,  my  feet  slipped  from  under  me, 
and  the  seriousness  of  my  quest  came  suddenly 
upon  me.  "  If  " — but  I  dared  not  continue.  The 
rain  began  to  fall,  and,  with  my  eye  upon  the  pain- 
fully distinct  grizzly  tracks,  I  approached  the  cliff. 

Suddenly  I  paused  in  astonishment,  for  a  gaping 
rocky  chasm  lay  between  me  and  the  trail,  which 
could  be  seen  zigzagging  across  the  cliff  five  hun- 
dred feet  above.  A  giant  landslide  had  carried 
the  whole  face  of  the  bald  mountain  away  east- 
wardly  into  Williams  Creek,  a  thousand  feet 
below.  It  was  a  case  of  "  No  thoroughfare !  "  My 
only  course  was  to  drop  down  to  the  western  side, 
and  skirt  along  the  hill  below  the  chasm,  along  the 
Soquel,  keeping  its  course  in  sight,  and  try  to  rise 
again  to  the  ridge  beyond  the  gaping  chasm.  To 
my  inexpressible  delight,  the  bear  had  turned  off 
to  the  right  and  plunged  down  into  the  glen  of 
Williams  Creek,  to  which  shades  the  acorns  and 
wild  cherries  always  invited  Ursus  ferox  Ameri- 
ca nis. 

It  was  an  hour  later  when  I  reached  a  jutting 
rock,  a  mile  north  of  the  break  in  the  trail.  I  was 
beginning  to  feel  chafed  and  wet  through.  The 
revolver  belt  and  the  two  pouches  galled  me  ;  the 


AN     AWKWARD     MEETING  37 

coveted  beautiful  six-shooting  rifle  was  seemingly 
fifty  pounds  in  weight.  But,  I  had  given  the 
grizzly  the  slip  !  I  could  see  the  whole  course  of 
the  Soquel  River,  and,  four  or  five  miles  to  the 
north,  I  could  see  a  dark  line  upon  the  yellow 
flood,  which  appeared  to  be  stationary,  and 
promised  a  gigantic  jam  of  the  great  trees.  Weak 
and  weary,  I  struggled  along,  my  mind  fired  with 
the  hope  of  a  final  success.  I  had  not  seen  a  single 
animal.  The  gray  skies  were  darkened,  the  cold 
gusts  of  rain  drove  in  my  face,  and  I  began  to  lose 
my  nerve  in  the  weird,  ghastly  forest.  Keeping 
my  eyes  fixed  on  the  point  where  I  could  see  the 
black  line  of  the  log  jam,  I  struggled  along,  not 
daring  to  confess  that  the  place  was  at  least  ten 
miles  from  the  mills.  I  began  to  sing,  to  talk  to 
myself,  to  chatter,  as  I  dragged  along. 

There  were  missteps  which  sent  me  sliding 
dozens  of  feet  down  the  slippery  hillsides.  My 
hands  were  cold  as  ice,  my  brow  burning,  and  as 
I  at  last  consulted  my  watch,  I  found  it  was  three 
o'clock  before  I  had  skirted  the  unfamiliar  moun- 
tainside and  arrived  on  the  side  of  the  third  spur 
of  mountain,  abreast  of  the  obstruction  in  the  river, 
and  about  a  thousand  feet  above  it. 

Ranging  around  till  I  found  an  open  place  in  the 
trees,  I  gazed  long  and  eagerly.  There  appeared 
to  be  fifty  or  more  great  trees,  branches  and  all 
interlaced,  making  a  practical  crossing,  the  only  one 
in  ten  miles.  With  a  sinking  heart,  I  prepared  to 
descend  into  the  canyon  of  the   Soquel,  for  I  had 


38  AN    AWKWARD    MEETING 

suddenly  realized  that  I  would  not  be  able  to  re- 
trace my  steps  before  dark  night.  To  travel  the 
fearful  road  I  had  come  was  impossible,  without  all 
my  energies  and  the  clearest  daylight,  in  fashion, 
for  the  forty  days  of  the  terrible  visitation. 

I  stumbled  along,  weak  and  weary,  determined 
to  verify  the  fact  of  a  practicable  passage  of  the 
surging  river  below,  and,  casting  my  eyes  about 
for  some  place  to  refuge  myself  during  the  night 
I  had   frankly   abandoned   all   ideas   of   personal 
bravery  and  I  deeply  regretted  by  boyish  foolish- 
ness.    I  had  never  listened  to  the  suggestion  of  a 
careful  soul  that  "  two    heads   were   better  than 
one,"  and  I  felt  the  singular  demoralization  coming 
from  my  untried  youth  and  the  jarring  solitude  of 
the   dismal   woods.     How    gay    in    the    hunting 
forays  with  Johnny  White  at  my  side  were  these 
now  untenanted  wastes!     The  possibility  of  meet- 
ing the  giant  grizzly  on  the  ridge  returned  again 
and  again.     My  limbs  were  stiff  and   sore,  and  I 
wondered    if     any    prowling,    hunger-maddened 
animal    could    follow    my  trail    over    the   moist 
ground. 

But,  I  hastened  before  the  shades  of  night  fell  to 
examine  the  great  log  jam,  now  plainly  visible.  I 
would  then  return  to  the  hillside,  and,  trying  to 
find  a  hollow  tree,  make  a  store  of  dry  branches  for 
a  fire  to  affright  any  hostile  beast. 

With  nervous  desperation,  I  plunged  down  the 
hillside,  and,  at  last,  reached  the  gravelly  banks 
fifty  feet  above  the  huge  tangle  of  uprooted  trees. 


AN    AWKWARD    MEETING  39 

Even  in  my  growing  demoralization,  I  joyed  to 
see  that  great  trees,  sweeping  down  in  the  current 
on  either  side,  had  interlaced  their  branches,  and 
that  other  huge  logs  and  uprooted  trees  in  middle 
current  had  formed  a  splendid  and  perfectly  prac- 
ticable crossing.  One  huge  redwood  bound  the 
whole,  its  graceful  green  limbs  arching  in  the  air 
above  the  great  red  trunk 

I  was  anxious  to  verify  the  possibility  of  cross- 
ing, and  to  be  able  to  report  that  I  had  been  the 
only  one  of  the  beleaguered  dwellers  on  the 
Delta  to  touch  the  farther  shore  of  the  Soquel  in 
five  long  weeks,  and  so,  cautiously,  I  climbed  out, 
picking  my  way  along  over  the  raging  flood, 
whose  yellow  surge  tore  past  in  angry  white  bub- 
bling flakes  of  foam. 

Not  a  bird,  not  a  squirrel,  not  a  single  rabbit,— 
nothing  of  life  had  I  seen  in  the  lonely  day,  save 
one  great  gray  eagle  wheeling  his  flight  far  above 
me,  shining  dark  against  the  leaden,  lowering 
clouds. 

I  was  in  mid-stream,  parting  the  pliant  branches 
with  one  hand,  and  still  clutching  the  six-shooting 
rifle  with  the  other,  when  I  suddenly  saw  a  huge 
yellow  body  parting  the  green  redwood  branches 
not  ten  yards  from  me. 

A  pair  of  glaring  green  eyes  shone  out,  and  the 
struggling  animal  crouched,  vainly  clutching  at 
the  greasy  redwood  bark  for  a  spring. 

One  moment  I  gasped  in  the  sudden  surprise, 
and  then  I  knew  my  foe,  for  I  could  see  the  white 


40  AN    AWKWARD    MEETING 

patch  under  the  breast  of  the  huge  California 
lion  as  it  vainly  essayed  to  spring. 

There  was  no  room  for  the  giant  feline  to  turn, 
and  its  feet  were  bruised  and  cut  with  the  slippery, 
rain-drenched  river  gravel. 

Holding  the  Colt's  rifle  steadily  on  the  white 
breast  patch,  I  fired,  with  the  deliberation  born  of 
a  thorough  knowledge  of  my  danger.  The  heavy 
ring  of  the  rifle  was  answered  by  a  scream  of  wild 
ferocity,  as  the  big  puma  fell  sideways  and 
clutched  desperately  with  its  forepaws  at  the 
nearest  limbs.  I  could  see  the  whole  broadside  of 
the  animal,  and  I  steadily  held  on  the  white  line 
under  its  sleek  brown  side,  and  then,  sent  a  second 
slug  crashing  into  the  quivering  mass  of  sinews. 

1  stepped  cautiously  back  as  the  animal  tore  and 
bit  vainly  at  the  sheathing  bark  of  the  great  tree, 
then  one  huge  paw  relaxed,  and  the  wounded 
beast  clung  desperately  with  the  other.  The 
rounded  head  was  turned  toward  me,  and,  I  forgot 
to  argue  upon  the  possibility  of  the  beast  swim- 
ming! 

I  had  revolved  the  barrel  of  the  rifle  for  the 
third  time,  and  I  noted  with  joy  that  the  brute 
seemed  to  be  sinking  lower  in  the  water  on  the 
down-river  side  of  the  huge  log.  I  drew  up  the 
gun  and  aimed  directly  behind  the  fore-shoulder- 
When  the  smoke  cleared  away,  I  saw  once  or 
twice  the  gleam  of  white  and  yellow,  as  the  car- 
cass was  swiftly  whirled  away  down  stream. 

Then,  smitten  with  some  sudden  haste,  I  picked 


AN    AWKWARD    MEETING  41 

my  way  back  to  the  eastern  shore,  without  finish, 
ing  the  easy  transit.  There  was  yet  light  enough 
for  me  to  follow  my  trail  back  to  a  bald  point 
where  a  forest  fire  had  hollowed  out  a  dozen  great 
redwoods  still  standing. 

Within  the  hollows  were  pieces  of  burned 
branches  and  fragments.  I  cleared  away  the  in- 
terior of  one  of  these,  and  in  half  an  hour  had 
kindled  a  glowing  fire.  I  selected  strong  branches 
and  stones,  with  bits  of  rotted  logs,  to  make  me  a 
breast-high  barricade. 

Reloading  my  rifle,  I  warmed  the  cold  pork 
and  divided  my  scanty  store  into  two  meals. 
Then,  walking  around  my  fire,  I  dried  myself 
partly,  and  finally  retired  within  the  barricade 
which  I  had  builded  in  front  of  my  impromptu 
bedroom.  The  sigh  of  the  night  winds,  the  plash 
of  the  occasional  rain,  lulled  me  to  sleep,  and  sheer 
fatigue  overcame  all  my  nervous  scruples.  It  was 
long  after  daylight  when  I  awoke,  but  I  lost  no 
time  in  hastening  away  on  the  return  trip. 

Munching  my  slender  rations  as  I  strode  along, 
I  marched  with  all  the  high  pride  of  success  in 
my  lightening  heels.  The  topographical  experi- 
ence of  the  day  before  enabled  me  to  skirt  the 
mountain  sides  at  a  reasonable  distance  above  the 
chasms  along  the  river,  and  gradually  rise  to  the 
spinal  ridge  leading  down  to  the  V-shaped  plateau 
within  the  two  rivers. 

Covered  Avith  ashes  from  my  tree-hollow  bed, 
weary,  and   yet  triumphant,  I   dragged   my  tired 


42  AN    AWKWARD    MEETING 

feet  down  along  the  ridge  to  the  sawmills,  arriv- 
ing about  two  o'clock.  There  was  no  fatted  calf 
to  kill,  but  my  return  prevented  a  search  party. 
The  rifle  line  of  signaling  was  soon  set  at  work, 
and,  two  days  later,  the  "  Castle  Perilous  "  was 
relieved  by  means  of  the  train  of  flour-carrying 
lumbermen.  From  that,  till  the  end  of  the  storm, 
and  the  abating  of  the  waters,  the  ordinary  com- 
forts of  life  were  procured,  and,  in  a  month,  the 
floods  left  us,  the  stern  struggle  against  financial 
ruin  supplanting  the  grim  possibilities  of  starva- 
tion. 

My  yellow-coated  friend,  the  giant  puma,  was 
discovered,  in  a  decidedly  damaged  condition, 
and  very  much  the  worse  for  wear,  when  the 
waters  receded,  the  carcass  being  entangled  in  a 
drift  some  five  miles  below,  wrhere  he  gave  me 
decidedly  the  most  awkward  meeting  of  my  life. 


THE   POOL  OF  DEATH 

BY 

RICHARD  HENRY  SAVAGE 


A    LITTLE    BOY    OF    THREE    HAD    BEEN    LOST 


THE   POOL  OF  DEATH 


In  thirty  years  of  varied  experience,  I  do  not 
remember  any  portion  of  the  "  deserts  wild  and 
antres  vast,"  which  I  have  roved  over,  as  repug- 
nant to  me  as  the  regions  of  Colon,  Mosquito, 
and  Olancho,  in  Spanish  Honduras.  Six  months 
of  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and  ninety,  wasted 
in  climbing  the  terrific  spurs  of  the  Carpamento 
and  Silaco  Mountains  in  search  of  gold,  have 
cured  me,  for  life,  of  the  aura  sacri  fames. 

The  arid  valleys  between  the  mountain  ranges 
were  glowing  furnaces,  and  the  gloomy  tropical 
forest  between  the  Rio  Negro  and  the  lonely 
Aguan  was  haunted  with  varying  horrors.  The 
Atlantic  coast  of  Spanish  Honduras,  from  Puerta 
Barrios  to  Cape  Gracias  a  Dios  presents  a  line  of 
steaming  lagoons  with  a  fringe  of  banana,  cocoa- 
nut,  and  pineapple  plantations.  Bold  mountains 
are  barriers  to  the  interior,  and  the  lonely,  silent 
rivers  are  only  traversed  by  the  dug-out  of  the 
barbarous  natives.  No  wheeled  vehicle  can  be 
used  for  inland  journeys  ;  the  horse  is  almost  use- 
less, angl,  diminutive  but  wonderfully  reliable 
mules  are  the  only  means  of  transport  for  man  and 
merchandise. 


46  THE    POOL    OF    DEATH 

Scattered  along  the  coast  are  squalid  towns — 
old  Truxillo  and  Omoa  alone  recall  the  days  of 
the  Conquistadores,  with  their  ruined  Spanish 
fortifications.  There  is  no  gun  mounted  to-day 
on  the  superb  old  castle  of  Omoa,  and  the  gi- 
gantic iguana  lizard  comfortably  nests  in  the  few 
old  bronze  cannon  still  pointing  seaward  at  Truxillo. 
It  was  upon  the  public  square  of  this  decayed 
ante-colonial  city  that  I  rallied  my  party  for  a 
voyage  into  the  gloomy  gorges  of  the  Mangalile 
Mountains.  The  fact  that  my  illustrious  compa- 
triot William  Walker  had  been  shot  there,  with 
hospitable  promptness,  was  a  prophecy  of  the 
mingled  reserve,  aversion,  and  treachery  with 
which  I  found  the  whole  people  tainted.  The 
official  half-caste  Honduraneans,  the  Mestizos,  the 
degraded  interior  Indians,  and  the  white  refugees 
of  a  dozen  countries  made  up  an  unlovely  human 
show,  in  which  there  was  no  promise  of  any  sur- 
vival of  the  fittest.  The  coal-black  Caribs  alone 
seemed  in  the  main  to  be  sober,  civil,  and  reliable. 
The  most  daring  boatmen  of  the  whole  world,  the 
most  adroit  fishermen,  and  the  masters  of  the  cut- 
ting and  loading  of  all  tropical  fruits,  this  singular 
people  never  go  inland,  and  their  farthest  range 
is  limited  by  the  length  of  a  day's  canoe  journey 
up  and  down  the  innumerable  watery  openings 
into  the  tropical  jungle  of  the  great  gloomy  At- 
lantic forests.  The  Carib's  foot  is  always  in  touch 
with  the  seashore.  From  his  villages  he  goes  out 
boldly  to  reap  the  harvest  of  the  fisheries,  disdain- 


THE    POOL    OF    DEATH  47 

ing  cyclone  and  storm,  fearless  amid  the  raging 
waves.  Seated  in  a  little  canoe,  dug  out  of  a  sin- 
gle log,  paddle  in  hand,  the  hardy  Carib  pilot  will 
board  a  thousand-ton  steamer,  laughingly,  when 
the  bravest  white  man  dares  not  lower  a  boat. 

Strange  people,  guiltless  of  the  traveler's  blood, 
bearing  no  weapons,  they  have  mystic  secrets  of 
their  own,  which  none  may  gain  for  money.  Snake- 
charming,  voudoo  arts,  charms  and  love-potions, 
strange  customs  speaking  of  old  Africa  and  the 
Niger,  are  theirs,  and  they  live  at  peace  with  all 
along  the  eight  hundred-mile  coast. 

Their  houses  are  neat,  their  villages  clean  and 
even  prosperous  looking,  their  stately  coal-black 
women  are  industrious  and  modest  and  always 
clad  in  gleaming,  spotless  white.  The  Christian 
cross  is  hung  upon  the  women's  necks,  and,  rich 
in  fish  and  poultry,  the  smaller  animals,  with  store 
of  cassava  bread,  the  housekeeping  is  far  from 
despicable.  Honduras,  stretching  to  the  Pacific 
Ocean,  has  but  one  port  and  a  small  strip  of  sea- 
board on  the  west,  and,  only  from  Tegucigalpa,  its 
mountain  capital,  to  the  Pacific,  a  certain  pros- 
perity reigns.  The  great  triangle  facing  the  At- 
lantic is,  in  the  main,  a  gloomy  and  unfrequented 
jungle.  The  Caribs  penetrate  but  a  few  miles  into 
the  interior  on  their  banana-cutting  forays,  or  in 
search  of  a  huge  cedar  tree,  from  a  section  of 
which  a  splendid  canoe,  sometimes  forty  feet  long, 
is  made  from  one  log  by  burning  out  and  trim- 
ming. 


48  THE    POOL    OF    DEATH 

Returning  with  this  easily  gotten  vessel,  at  the 
seashore  the  hardy  Carib  builds  on  upper  works, 
masts,  and  rigs  it,  and  often  produces  a  vessel  fit 
to  voyages  as  far  as  the  Bahamas. 

Leaving  these  quaint  and  worthy  simple  folk, 
with  two  white  companions,  and  several  muleteers 
and  natives,  I  departed  for  the  head  waters  of  the 
Aguan.  The  lazy,  dreamy  old  city  of  Truxillo, 
lying  under  the  shadows  of  Congrehoy,  was  re- 
pulsive with  its  squalid  adobes,  its  dirty,  frowsy 
soldiers,  its  lurking  vagabonds,  its  limp,  insolent 
half-caste  women.  When  not  stealing  out  in  the 
black  manta  to  linger  like  dejected  crows  around 
an  old  tumble-dowm  church  on  the  plaza,  these 
listless  children  of  sloth  wTere  idly  swinging  in  the 
hammock,  or  seated  on  a  horse  or  ox  skull,  comb- 
ing their  stringy,  raven  hair. 

In  a  climate  of  enervating  tropical  heat,  varied 
with  terrific  storms,  with  its  social  life  punctuated 
by  occasional  sweeping  visitations  of  Yellow  Jack 
and  recurrent  tragedies,  the  men  lazy,  vicious,  and 
listless,  the  women  without  education,  art,  or  occu- 
pation, the  old  community  slowly  rots  along  to  the 
last  limit  of  social  decay.  Everything  seems  to 
have  relaxed ;  neither  government,  creed,  faith,  nor 
even  personal  ambition  lifts  up  the  dull  level  of 
Honduranean  squalor. 

Down  from  the  plateau,  where  every  ragged 
tatterdemalion  was  a  Don  Luis  or  Don  Sebastian, 
where  every  bare-footed  wearer  of  a  single  gar- 
ment was  Senora  Mercedes,  or  Donna  Isabel,  our 


THE    POOL    OF    DEATH  49 

lit!  le  cavalcade  dragged  away  in  the  glaring  sun, 
pa,jt  the  prosperous  Carib  town,  to  enter,  after  a 
journey  on  the  beach  of  a  half  dozen  miles,  the 
gloomy  gorge,  leading  into  the  defiles  of  the  great 
mountain  range,  separating  us  from  the  vast  inland 
wilderness  of  the  Aguan  and  Rio  Negro  Valleys 
beyond.     There  were  two  or  three  steamers  vis- 
ible as  I  lost  the  blue  sea  from  my  sight.  Steamers 
from   New  Orleans  and   Baltimore   and    Mobile, 
lying  there  till  the  hardy  Caribs  would  assemble 
at  different  landings  along  the  coast  enough  cocoa- 
nuts,  half-ripe  pineapples,  and  yet  green  bananas 
to  keep  the  doctors  of  a  dozen   Northern  cities  in 
ecstasies  for  weeks,  in  the  "  near  future."     The  sil- 
ver half-dollars  paid  to  the  Caribs  and  the  purchase 
price  of  fruit  furnish  nearly  all  the  money  current 
along  the  whole  Mosquito  coast.     Hides,  sarsapa- 
rilla  root  and  vine,  deer  and  goat  skins,  being  the 
only  output  of  Spanish  Honduras,  save  mahogany 
and   logwood   in  decreasing  quantities.     I  gazed 
back  at  Hog  Island,  the  first  point  where  Columbus 
sighted  the  main  land  of  America,  and  muttered  a 
good-by  as  we  left  the  sweltering  beach.      The 
usual  first  day's  mishaps  had  broken  all  our  tem- 
pers.    Packs  overturning,  fractious  mules,  stupid 
mozos,  one  cowardly  servant  deserting  in  fear  of 
the  unknown     terrors    of   a   three-weeks'   inland 
march,  and   all  the   shaking  down   of  a  "  pulling 
out,"   made   the  three  Americans  grumpy.     We 
plunged  into  a  dim  defile  and  began  to  ascend  the 
scarped  mountains  leading  to  the  interior  Aguan, 


5° 


THE  POOL  OF  DEATH 


Valley,  and  the  path  led  along  the  trail  of  Cortez' 
slaves. 

The  little  mules  hopped  from  step  to  step,  cut 
in  the  rocks,  and  after  dizzying  ourselves  with 
glances  down  into  the  sheer  canyons,  along  which 
we  picked  our  way,  we  closed  our  eyes,  held  on 
to  the  saddles,  and  let  the  mules  guard  their  own 
lives,  as  well  as  those  of  their  riders. 

Chill  airs  drew  under  the  huge  forest  trees,  and 
as  we  were  dripping  from  the  solar  broiling 
of  the  long  ride  along  the  beach,  manifold  insects 
of  Honduranean  strangeness  settled  upon  the 
exposed  parts  of  our  bodies,  buzzing,  biting,  nip- 
ping, burrowing,  and  stinging.  We  knew  that 
"  all  men  were  liars  "  as  to  the  hundred  varying 
accounts  of  the  three-hundred-mile  forest  route 
we  were  to  traverse,  but,  they  all  agreed  in  truth  as 
to  the  "insectivora"  of  the  interior.  Sandflies, 
chigoes,  garrapatos,  mosquitoes,  red  ants,  white 
ants,  and  everything  with  legs,  wings,  and  arms, 
cheered  us  on  our  way. 

The  evening  shades  descended  as  we  reached 
the  summit  at  Bella  Vista,  and  had  one  last  peep 
of  a  distant  sapphire  streak.  The  three  voyagers 
on  the  golden  quest  had  been  initiated  into  the 
delights  of  dragging  the  mules  up  the  steeper 
places,  and  crawling  along,  encumbered  with 
spurs,  revolvers,  bowie  knives,  clattering  can- 
teens, Winchester  rifles,  and  all  the  impedimenta 
of  the  fool's  voyage  into  Wonderland. 

I  can  recall  now,  with  evident  shame,  my  in- 


THE    POOL    OF    DEATH  51 

ternal  soliloquy  as  I  began  to  see  the  delights  in 
store  ahead.  In  three  weeks,  to  cross  nine  ranges 
of  mountains,  swim  and  ford  a  dozen  rivers,  and 
have  the  horrors  of  a  ten  days'  jungle  trip,  the 
wiles  of  the  wild  Olancheros,  and  the  possibilities 
of  throat-cutting  by  the  Rio  Negro  and  Patuca 
Indians.  All  this  loomed  up  suddenly,  and  only 
the  coward  pride  of  an  Americano  kept  my  face 
turned  to  the  West.  I  should  have  turned  back, 
for,  I  shed  my  good  boots,  my  temper,  nearly  all 
my  skin,  my  good  money,  and  scattered  my  per- 
sonal belongings  in  a  wasteful,  castaway  manner 
for  three  months,  gladly  giving  or  throwing  away 
the  last,  when  I  leaped  aboard  a  little  sloop  on  my 
return,  to  sail  out  to  the  Carribean  Islands,  and 
catch  a  fruit  schooner  destined  to  drop  me  at  the 
South  Ferry,  in  the  city  of  New  York,  the  home 
of  every  giddy  pleasure. 

My  envy  of  the  bare-legged  mozos  running 
along,  clad  only  in  a  degage  shirt  and  rawhide 
sandals,  cigarette  in  mouth,  and  machete  in  hand, 
was  suddenly  chilled  as  we  were  stopped  in  our 
single  file  descent,  by  a  particularly  vicious  look- 
ing "  fer  de  lance  "  snake  about  six  feet  long.  I 
was  aware  that  these  insidious  ophidians  amiably 
took  a  yellow  color  in  ripe  banana  bunches,  a 
brown  shade  on  logs  and  leafy  mold,  a  green  one 
among  brandies  and  foliage,  and  were  deadly  in 
their  freely-offered  poison.  Only  the  Caribssecm 
to  have  guarded  the  secret  of  an  antidote  to  these 
bites,  and  we  had  no  Carib  Indian  with  us. 


52 


THE  POOL  OF  DEATH 


In  the  huddle,  the  frightened  muleteers  and 
mozos  allowed  the  three  Americanos  to  practice 
on  the  defiant  "fer  de  lance"  with  three  revol- 
vers, a  rifle,  and  a  shotgun,  and  the  vicious  reptile 
was  twisting  and  squirming  long  after  the  brave 
Honduraneans  had  clubbed  the  remains  of  him 
soundly.  A  veteran  plainsman — a  Sioux- fighter — 
had  shot  Mr.  Fer  de  Lance  into  three  or  four 
lengths.  The  city  gentleman  divided  him  again, 
and  I  then,  blew  him  into  pieces  about  the  con- 
venient size  of  Frankfurters. 

When  we  had  urged  our  little  cavalcade  of 
seven  mules  by  his  battleground,  the  woods  were 
vocal  with  all  kinds  of  discordant  shrieks.  Ani- 
mals, small  and  large,  seemed  to  slip  around  in  a 
profusion  suggesting  the  Wolfs  Glen  in  "  Der 
Freischutz."  Screaming  parrots,  yelling  macaws, 
the  distant  sounds  of  jackal,  jaguar,  peccary,  and 
wild  turkey,  mingled  with  the  plaintive  call  of  the 
"  trujillo "  bird,  whose  strange  cry  recalled  the 
droning  town  we  had  left. 

Hares,  grouse,  partridges,  and  fat-breasted 
orioles  abounded,  and  the  chatter  of  a  dozen 
tribes  of  monkeys  down  by  the  streams  wafted  us 
on  our  way.  The  mules  stepped  on  little  lazy 
armadilloes  rattling  along  in  horny  coats  of  mail, 
and  an  assortment  of  lizards,  from  four  inches  to 
four  feet  long,  took  note  of  our  movements.  The 
camp  that  night  was  a  funereal  one.  Coffee,  some 
cold  provender,  and  the  slinging  of  the  little  can- 
vas hammocks  tied  on  behind  our  saddles,  were 


.:!!■:    POOL    OF    DEATH 


our  only  restorers,  and  then,  each  man  fought  his 
own  crop  of  attached  insects,  and  tried  to  sleep  in 
the  simoom  breath  of  a  tropical  night. 

Experience  led  me  to  be  comfortable  in  the 
little  canvas  trough  later,  and  to  regard  bo< 
and  a  belt  with  revolver  and  bowie  knife,  as  mere 
trifles  in  a  night  toilet.  We  all  became  used  to 
every  kind  of  yell,  shriek,  and  howl,  the  browning 
cuticle  at  last  ceased  to  pain  us  when  the  Hon- 
duranean  insect  burrowed  into  the  poison  skin, 
and  a  social  and  physical  numbness  prepared  me 
for  the  later  delights  of  traveling  one  hundred 
and  twenty  miles  upon  two  raw  eggs  and  three 
half-roasted  plantains  as  rations. 

But  lor  the  pipe  and  a  few  handfuls  of  tobacco, 
the  relator  would  have  surely  left  his  cadaver  to 
the  peccaries,  on  a  return  five  weeks  later,  alone, 
save  for  two  hostile  would-be  cutthroats,  over  the 
yet  unknown  horrors  of  the  Mangalile  trail. 

We  had  passed  one  little  town,  and  it  was  a 
week  later  that  we  found  ourselves  camping  in  the 
heart  of  the  vast  malarial,  gloomy  wilderness  of 
the  upper  bend  of  the  great  Aguan  river.  We 
were  pretty  well  aware  that  nothing  could  in 
crease  the  miseries  of  the  opening  week  of  a  most 
wasteful  phase  of  all  our  lives,  but,  in  the  little  in- 
tervals of  open  ground,  we  could  see  rising  afar 
now  the  terrific  battlements  of  the  mountain 
ranges  we  were  doomed  to  drag  our  fever- 
weakened  bodies  over,  on  a  bootless  errand.  It 
was  no  comfort  to  us  to  know  that  Cortez  had  lost 


54  THE    POOL    OF    DEATH 

three  hundred  of  his  bravest  cavaliers  in  these 
same  terrific  gorges,  but,  when  our  flatly  mutinous 
muleteers  demanded  rest,  and  the  animals  were 
ready  to  break  down,  we  camped  in  the  heart  of 
the  trackless  forest  which  had  entrapped  us. 

We  had  gone  on  beyond  all  signs  of  the  lazy 
Honduraneans  and  only  a  few  squalid  mountain 
Indians  passed  us,  in  fear  and  trembling.  The 
sound  of  our  guns  alarmed  them,  for  we  made 
free  with  the  abundant  game.  The  poor  wretches 
staggering  along  under  the  weight  of  eighty 
pounds  of  twisted  sarsaparilla  roots  were  travel- 
ing two  hundred  miles  to  the  sea  to  barter  it  for 
liquor,  a  little  cloth,  and  a  few  trinkets. 

In  our  temporary  camp  we  remained  several 
days.  The  hammocks  were  slung  to  trees  cleared 
of  all  branches.  A  fire  brightly  burning  frightened 
away  the  dangerous  animals  at  night,  a  dozen 
smudges  killed  some  of  the  insects,  and  we  had 
cleared  the  ground  of  scorpions,  tarantulas,  and 
other  poisonous  vermin.  Two  or  three  circles  of 
horsehair  lariats  were  stretched  to  prevent  snakes 
crossing  the  elastic  barrier,  and  we  rested  in  a 
sullen  inertia  of  ugly  discontent. 

Pouring  rain  on  the  march,  terrible  tropical 
thunder-storms  of  exceptional  violence,  and  the 
murky  miasmatic  heat  under  the  enormous  trees 
had  hardened  us  to  the  amplitude  of  physical 
suffering  awaiting  us. 

Gigantic  trees,  three  hundred  feet  high,  towering 
around  us  were  the  nests  of  clouds  of  glossy-black, 


THE    POOL    OF    DEATH  55 

rose-beaked  oriole  toucans,  with  golden  epaulettes. 
At  dawn,  magnificent  flights  of  macaws  and  flamin- 
goes  made   the  sky   one   mass  of  moving   color. 
Great  monkeys  lived  high  up  in  these  giant  trees, 
while   the   gum   trees  and    cedars,   with  the  ma- 
hogany and  ceibatreeshad  another  monkey  popu- 
lation living  a  hundred   feet   below,  with  game 
birds  and    squirrels  as  their  mates.     Huge  roots 
ran  out  as  buttresses  from   the  ceiba  trees,  and, 
trailing  from  the  branches   of  the  lower  foliage, 
the  tracery  of  tropical  vine  and  flowering  plants 
was  impenetrable.     Ten  feet  away  from  the  trail 
we  chopped  out,  a  man  was  invisible. 

The  rarest  orchids  by  thousands  bloomed  around 
us,  as  parasites  on  the  trunks  of  huge  trees  from 
fifteen  to  twenty  feet  in  diameter. 

The  secret  of  our  muleteers'  mutiny  was  found 
soon  to  be  a  little  hidden  village  of  half-caste  mes- 
tizos hovering  near  a  great  pool  in  the  forest 
from  which  a  slender  rivulet  not  six  inches  deep 
trinkled  down  to  the  morasses  and  swamps  flooded 
with  rank  black  poisonous  water  from  the  over- 
flowing windings  and  bends  of  the  huge  Aguan. 
The  men  of  this  squalid  little  camp  of  indigenes 
were  absent  hunting  sarsaparilla,  cutting  logwood, 
shooting  jaguars,  or  collecting  gorgeous  birds' 
wings,  for  the  lovely  daughters  of  Eve,  in  Paris, 
London,  and  New  York,  and  our  muleteers  made 
free  with  our  tobacco,  panoche  cake  sugar,  coffee, 
and  in  fact,  all  stealable  articles.  This  tribute  was 
used  to  insure  them  a  welcome  among  the  half- 


56  THE    POOL    OF    DEATH 

starved  forest  dwellers,  and  fandango  and  festa 
went  on,  while  we,  the  gringo  greenhorns,  were 
hunting,  quarreling  or  picking  out  a  few  samples 
of  the  three  or  four  hundred  insects  every  one  of 
us  carried  around. 

The  great  black  pool  was  the  most  considerable 
body  of  water  seen  in  two  or  three  days'  march, 
and  morning  and  evening,  deer,  jaguars,  droves 
of  peccary,  and  many  uncouth  animals  boldly 
emerged  from  the  circling  forest  shades  to  slake 
their  thirst  in  its  never-failing  waters. 

At  the  lower  end  of  this  pool,  where  the  rivulet 
trickled  forth,  a  few  heavy  stones  had  been  rolled 
together, with  here  and  there,  a  rough  wooden  plat- 
form. To  this  place,  the  dozen  or  more  women  of 
the  little  village  would  repair  to  wash  their  prim- 
itive costumes.  It  was  the  one  mark  of  social 
civilization  in  the  village  of  thatched  palm  huts, 
where  a  mud  bake-oven  for  cassava  bread,  a  sin- 
gle iron  pot,  a  few  chickens,  and  a  few  earthen 
dishes,  with  a  half-dozen  knives,  forks,  and  spoons, 
made  up  the  whole  personal  property.  Even  the 
hammocks  were  twisted  of  the  fibres  of  the  forest 
vines. 

It  was  by  a  delegation  of  the  ladies  of  this  most 
unfashionable  summer  resort  that  we  were  re- 
quested to  rid  them  of  some  unknown  monster 
which  had  devoured  several  of  the  children,  left 
playing  and  sprawling  around  the  banks  of  the 
Pool  of  Death,  while  the  mothers  were  washing. 
Even  one  old  woman,  who  had  lain  down  for  a 


THE    POOL    OF    DEATH  57 

siesta,  had  bodily  disappeared.  One  native  hunter 
who  was  possessed  of  an  old  pot-metal  shot  gun 
had  vainly  watched  over  a  yelping  puppy  tied  to 
a  stake  near  the  pool  of  death.  No  jaguar,  puma, 
or  wolf,  no  animal  of  known  ferocity,  was  potted 
by  him. 

We  were  inclined  to  think  that  this  was  a  story 
of  our  muleteers,  who  passed  the  days  enjoying 
roast  monkey,. stewed  iguana,  and  baked  plantain, 
with  these  simple  villagers. 

But,  the  howls  of  the  women  approaching  our 
camp  in  a  body,  touched  us,  when  we  found  that  a 
little  boy  of  three  had  been  lost,  in  the  daytime, 
after  being  left  playing  on  the  bank  of  the  myste- 
rious pool.  A  long  night's  vigil  of  three  hunters, 
each  with  a  "  mozo,"  resulted  in  nothing  save  the 
shooting  of  a  stray  jaguar,  a  couple  of  fat  deer, 
and  the  amusing  adventure  of  the  plainsman,  who 
was  nodding  at  his  post.  In  the  dead  hours  of 
the  night,  a  couple  of  wolves  came  bounding  down 
to  the  bank,  chasing  a  dark-colored  animal  almost 
as  large  as  a  young  ass.  Plunging  and  wallowing 
along  through  the  dense  underbrush,  the  mad- 
dened animal  came  rushing  on,  and,  pausing  but 
a  moment  on  the  bank  to  shake  off  its  vulpine  pur- 
suers, plunged  boldly  into  the  dark  waters  of  the 
silent  Pool  of  Death. 

The  startled  plainsman  had  only  time  to  roll 
over  one  of  the  wolves  with  a  Winchester  bullet, 
the  other  escaping,  when  he  gazed  out  on  the 
star-lit  surface  of  the  Pool  of  Death,  to  mark  the 


58  THE    POOL    OF    DEATH 

reappearance  of  the  strange  animal  which  had 
sought  relief  in  boldly  hurling  itself  into  the  black 
waters. 

11  That's  a  queer  sort  of  a  jackass,"  mused  the 
plainsman.  "  Won't  he  ever  come  up  ?  I  wonder 
if  he  walks  on  the  bottom  of  the  lake? "  With  his 
rifle  cocked,  and  revolver  ready,  he  awaited  some 
sign  of  the  return  of  the  frightened  animal.  "  I 
wonder  if  he  has  committed  suicide  ?  "  mused  the 
hardy  American  plainsman.  "Jackasses  that  navi- 
gate like  this,  would  be  valuable  to  Barnum." 

And  he  suddenly  drew  back,  rifle  in  hand,  as 
the  waters  parted  near  him,  and  the  ungainly 
animal  tried  feebly  to  mount  the  bank. 

"  By  jove !  It's  a  huge  tapir  !  "  suddenly  re- 
flected the  rifleman,  who  had  knocked  over  dozens 
of  bear,  buffalo,  elk,  and  black-tail  deer,  but  had, 
so  far,  never  been  vouchsafed  a  pop  at  Tapirus 
Americanis.  "  I'll  let  him  get  up  the  bank  and 
save  the  wolves  the  trouble  of  killing  him.  I  want 
to  see  what  he  is  like  with  his  taper  four  toes  in 
front,  and  tapering  off  to  three  toes  behind.  I've 
got  him  sure,  now.     He's  very  weak." 

The  plainsman  was  about  to  draw  a  bead,  when, 
with  an  unwilling  struggle,  the  tapir  was  sud- 
denly drawn  back  under  the  black  water,  the  boil- 
ing foam  and  bubbles  indicating  a  terrible  strug- 
gle of  some  kind. 

A  careful  search  by  daylight  disclosed  nothing 
but  the  dead  wolf  to  add  to  the  night's  bag  of  the 
jaguar  and  the  two  fat  deer.     But,  the  irritated 


THE    POOL    OF    DEATH  59 


plainsman  was  determined  to  investigate  the  con- 
tents of  the  Pool  of  Death.  "  Gentlemen,"  he 
said,  after  the  three  men  had  taken  a  turn  around 
the  Pool  of  Death,  and  killed  monkeys  and 
iguanas  enough  for  the  men's  larder  for  a  couple 
of  days,  "  the  inhabitant  of  that  black  hole  stole 
my  tapir,  and— he  went  where  the  missing  picka- 
ninnies and  the  venerable  old  lady  went  to.  I  pro- 
pose to  get  even  !  " 

At  noon,  after  carefully  watching  the  pool  all 
the  morning,  the  plainsman  sounded  the  depths  of 
the  pool  by  throwing  in  stones  with  cork  buoys 
tied  to  them  with  long  strings.  He  found  that 
the  deepest  place  was  about  twenty  feet,  and  in 
the  middle,  easily  reachable  by  tossing  any  object 
from  the  bank,  about  half  way  up  the  long  side  of 

the  pond. 

The  whole  population  of  "  Ciudad  Perdida " 
was  gathered  around  the  bank,  and  the  two  other 
Americans  were  on  hand  with  their  guns  ready 
as  the  plainsmen  lashed  three  full  sticks  of  giant 
powder  together,  and,  carefully  capping  them, 
cemented  the  fuses,  cutting  them  about  ten  feet 

long. 

Attaching  the  projectile  to  a  good-sized  stone, 
the  plainsmen,  with  a  few  cautionary  words,  hurled 
the  explosive  agent  well  out  into  the  middle  of  the 
black  pool  of  death. 

There  was  silence  for  twenty  seconds,  and  then 
a  huge  column  of  mud,  water,  drifted  leaves, 
sticks,  and  even  a  good  sized  log  was  thrown  up 


60  THE    POOL    OF    DEATH 

fifty  feet  into  the  air.  Huge  boiling  ripples  of 
blackened  mud  waves  lapped  the  shores,  and,  with 
exclamations  of  disappointment,  the  whole  dwellers 
in  the  "  lost  city,"  as  well  as  the  travelers,  circu- 
lated around  the  banks  of  the  Pool  of  Death. 

"  It's  a  very  strange  thing,"  said  the  plainsman, 
"  who  ever  got  my  tapir  has  nailed  him  down,  and 
crawled  into  some  hole.  That  triple  explosion 
would  have  killed  an  elephant !  "  There  was  a  shout 
from  a  frightened  mozo. 

Drifting  slowly  down  to  the  mouth  of  the  little 
rivulet  was  the  body  of  a  huge,  loathsome  alliga- 
tor, the  shallow  waters  dyed  with  its  escaping 
blood.  Dragged  out  in  triumph,  the  great  sau- 
rian was  found  to  be  bursted  open  for  three  feet 
under  its  right  side.  A  fusillade  of  rifle  balls 
ended  its  career,  for  the  formidable  tail  was  still 
writhing  in  the  death  agonies.  The  grisly  mon- 
ster was  nearly  twenty  feet  in  length. 

"  There  !  "  proudly  cried  the  plainsman,  "  is  the 
fellow  who  was,  slowly  but  surely,  depopulating 
"  Ciudad  Perdida ! ' "  He  proceeded  to  catechize 
the  frightened  women,  and  found  that,  two  sea- 
sons before,  the  Aguan  River  had  flooded  the 
whole  forest.  "  He  was  left  up  here  in  shallow 
water  when  the  waters  receded/'  said  the  trium- 
phant hunter,  "  and,  craftily  hiding,  being  made 
desperate  with  hunger,  he  slyly  watched  for  whom 
he  might  devour.  He  got  my  tapir,— and— I  got 
him." 

Followed   by   the    blessings    of   the    rejoicing 


1I1E    PUUL    OF    DEATH  6l 

women,  the  three  Americans  broke  camp,  and 
toiled  on  toward  the  awful  gorges  of  the  Manga- 
lile  River. 


The  Pirate  of  Williams  Landing 


BY 

RICHARD  HENRY  SAVAGE 


I    WAS    SOON   WORKING    MY    WAY    DOWN    THE    COAST    R^AD 


THE    PIRATE    OF    WILLIAMS 
LANDING. 


THERE  was  no  period  oi  the  war  a  more  dismal 

one  for  the  loyal  citizens  of  the  Pacific  coast  than 

the  winter  of  u  sixtv-tw..."  The  general  revcr 
to  the  Union  arms  had  dispirited  the  supporters 
of  the  Federal  government,  and  the  "coast"  was 
practically  cut  off  from  the  loyal  East  <  Oregon, 
Washington,  Nevada,  and  Arizona  were  thinly 
populated.  The  Indians  of  the  great  plains 
romped  freely  over  the  Northern  Overland  Mail 
Route,  Arizona  was  under  the  heel  of  Texan 
raiders,  and— there  was  no  railroad  in  those  days. 

The  population  of  California,  then  the  great 
treasure  house  of  a  tottering  Federal  Government, 
was  about  evenly  divided  between  the  North  and 
South.  With  a  wondrous  sagacity.  President 
Lincoln  only  drew  about  fifteen  thousand  men 
from  California  to  reopen  the  northern  overland 
route,  garrison  the  coast  forts,  and  drive  back 
Sibley's  raiders  from  Arizona. 

And,  all  too  late,  the  southern  men  of  the  Pacific 
coast  saw  how  an  easy  prey  had  slipped  from  then- 
hands.     The   same  tactics   which   grave    over    the 


66  THE    PIRATE    OF    WILLIAMS    LANDING 

Federal  troops  in  Texas,  under  General  Twiggs, 
to  the  Confederacy,  would  have  given  the  Rich- 
mond government  the  army  and  navy  supplies, 
the  Mare  Island  Navy  Yard,  the  Benicia  Arsenal, 
the  coast  forts,  and  all  the  movable  munitions  of 
war.  It  would  have  been  easy  to  hold  the  mints 
and  gold  mines,  and  to  divert  the  treasure  which 
bolstered  up  the  Lincoln  government,  into  Jeff 
Davis's  hands  via  Acapulco,  and  Chihuahua. 

The  French,  then  in  Mexico,  would  have  gladly 
aided  the  Southerners,  and  it  would  have  taken 
years  to  send  out  Union  troops  to  regain  California. 

Two  things  saved  California  and  the  coast  to  the 
Union.  First,  the  leading  Southerners  were  easy- 
going landowners,  politicians,  and  professional 
men.  They  never  believed  the  North  would  fight, 
and  were  not  as  eager  to  raise  a  local  storm  as 
they  should  have  been,  in  their  own  interest.  The 
banks,  telegraphs,  mails,  and  business  houses,  with 
the  merchant  shipping,  were  in  the  hands  of  loyal 
Northern  men,  who,  at  once,  became  business 
agents  of  the  Washington  Government. 

When  the  tide  of  victory  in  " sixty-two"  seemed 
to  have  set  toward  the  Southern  banners,  the 
secessionists  of  the  Pacific  coast  woke  up,  and 
began  secret  operations.  Numbers  of  their  bold- 
est and  bravest  hastened  East  to  fight  with  Sidney 
Johnston  and  Stonewall  Jackson. 

But,  the  weakness  ol  the  iVmerican  Union  at 
sea,  was  at  once  apparent  in  the  easy  depredations 
of  the  Sumter,  the  Alabama,  the  Georgia,  the  Talla- 


THE    PIRATE    OF    WILLIAMS    LANDING 

kassee,  the  Florida,  the  Chicamauga,  and  th  i  sub 
quent  adventures  of  the  ram  Stonewall,  and  th* 

Shenandoah,  which  destroyed  our  Pacific  whaling 

fleet. 

Had  the  Southern  government  sent  early  in  the 
war,  a  couple  of  good  cruisers  to  the  broad  Pacific, 
they  would  have  terrorized  California,  wh< 
heavy  freights  came  around  Cape  Horn,  ravaged 
the  fleet  of  Pacific  Mail  gold-carrying  mail 
steamers,  and  swept  all  American  commerce  from 
the  western  ocean.  There  was  nothing  to  prevent 
this,  as  the  safe  homeward  voyage  of  the  t4  Shen- 
andoah "  from  the  Arctic,  after  the  war,  proved, 
when  she  dodged  a  victorious  navy  of  a  thousand 

vessels. 

But,  in  the  winter  of  u  sixty-two,"  the  two  parties 
in  California  began  to  crystallize  into  fierce  little 
knots.  There  were  those  vague,  indefinable 
rumors  that  "something  was  going  to  happen." 
which  indicated  a  tardy  activity  on  the  part  of 
the  boldest  men  who  ever  drew  sword  in  a  civil 
war.  Why  they  did  not  act  sooner  will  always 
remain  a  puzzle  to  the  historian.  The  real  rea- 
son probably  was,  that,  with  "  Stonewall  Jackson  " 
in  the  valley,  and  Lee,  already  laurel-crowned, 
there  was  over-confidence  at  Richmond  as  to  con- 
quering an  early  peace. 

Neither  Grant,  Sherman,  Thomas,  McPherson, 
or  Sheridan  had  fully  blossomed  out  into  acknowl- 
edged heroes  as  yet,  while  the  Southern  laurel- 
were  in  full  bloom  on  many  a  brow. 


68  THE    PIRATE    OF    WILLIAMS    LANDING 

The  Union  men  of  California  organized  Union 
Leagues,  which  secretly  co-operated  with  the 
civil  and  military  authorities,  and  no  one  was 
admitted  unless  under  the  scrutiny  of  men  who 
marked  every  action  of  the  candidate.  These 
leagues  were  well  supplied  with  money  by  the 
business  men.  They  had  free  use  of  the  mails  and 
telegraph,  and  were  in  secret  league  with  the 
police  and  provost-marshals.  They  drilled  and 
had  private  neighborhood  rallying  plans ;  they 
had  arms  and  munitions  and  could  get  more 
freely. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  "  Jeff  Davis  men  " — the 
Knights  of  the  Golden  Circle,  and  the  so-called 
"  Copperheads  " — dared  not  openly  assemble. 
They  were  forced  to  act  like  men  under  the  ban, 
for,  an  incautious  "Hurrah  for  Jeff  Davis,"  brought 
the  excited  revolutionists  very  soon  to  Alcatraz 
Island,  engaged  in  wheeling  rocks  under  the  eyes 
of  a  Yankee  sentinel. 

There  was  a  brooding  quiet,  but  much  con- 
cealed ugliness  and  sporadic  "  shooting  scrapes," 
usually  settled  the  friction  at  the  angry  points  of 
touch.  Every  one  Avent  armed,  the  Union  League 
rooms  were  all  guarded,  and  the  slightest  sus- 
picious act  on  any  Southern  man's  part  caused 
him  to  be  pounced  on. 

It  was  too  late  to  make  the  grand  coup,  but 
not  too  late,  to  do  something  effective.  A  few 
daring  Southerners  supplied  money  and  others 
brains,  and  young  hot-heads  were  ready  to  make 


THE    PIRATE    OF    WILLIAMS    LANDING  69 

the  "  break."  But,  the  "  break"  had  to  be  made 
with  due  regard  to  the  inexhaustible  amount  of 
"rock  work"  ready  at  Alcatraz,  and  the  growing 
grip  of  the  Federal  authorities. 

Secret  service  men  were  scattered  all  over  the 
coast.  The  revenue  cutters  watched  Puget 
Sound,  the  Columbia  River,  and  the  northern 
California  ports  were  filled  with  loyal,  hardy  lum- 
bermen, and  a  chain  of  Union  Leagues  swept  all 
along  to  San  Diego. 

There  were  troops  at  Los  Angeles  and  San 
Diego.  San  Francisco  was  only  guarded  by  cut- 
ters and  one  or  two  refuse  naval  vessels,  together 
with  a  monitor,  then  in  the  bottom  of  the  harbor! 

But,  the  forts  and  arsenals  were  strongly  held. 
Only  a  lonely  strip  of  coast  from  Pescadero, 
down  to  San  Luis  Obispo  and  Santa  Barbara 
offered  a  hiding  place  to  fit  out  a  staunch  little 
privateer  to  capture  one  of  the  weak  Pacific  Mail 
steamers.  Taking  one  of  these,  then  laying  in 
wait  for  another,  three  millions  in  gold,  and  two 
great  ships  would  reward  a  good  boarding  dash. 
Mexico  was  at  hand,  but  the  ports  there  and  at 
Panama,  were  watched  by  our  Consuls  and  the 
secret  service  spies.  The  sole  precaution  taken 
very  late  in  the  war  was  to  put  a  Volunteer  officer, 
forty  men,  and  one  light  gun  on  each  of  the  great 
treasure  argosies.  And,  this  "  stable  door  "  expe- 
dient was  brought  about  by  two  daring  attempts 
to  begin  a  little  privateering  on  the  Pacific. 

Public  rumor  had  crystallized  upon  some  such 


70      .         THE    PIRATE    OF   WILLIAMS    LANDING 

attempt,  and  also,  an  organized  system  of  robbing 
the  great  treasure  carryalls  of  Wells,  Fargo  &  Co., 
who  brought,  in  coaches  and  stages,  the  golden 
bars  in  from  the  whole  Pacific  coast.  There  were 
only  two  little  strips  of  railroad  on  the  Pacific 
coast  then,  neither  over  thirty  miles  long. 

A  foolhardy  young  fellow,  becoming  intoxicated, 
was  caught  in  the  interior,  with  a  uniform  of  the 
C.  S.  A.,  a  commission  as  a  lieutenant  of  the  South- 
ern army,  and  the  stage  and  land  treasure-raids 
were  rendered  impossible.  For,  the  whole  plan 
leaked  out  by  the  imprudence  of  this  ardent  young 
pioneer  of  the  sword. 

He  was  hustled  away  somewhere,  and  indulged 
in  a  long  period  of  judicious  retirement. 

But,  the  naval  operations  were  really  creeping 
along.  There  were  several  lonely  little  landings 
between  San  Francisco  and  Monterey  which  really 
offered  a  snug  hiding-place  for  a  privateer.  Santa 
Cruz  and  Monterey  were  open  roadsteads,  and 
there  were  custom-houses  and  strong  Union 
Leagues  at  both  places.  Every  vessel  on  the  Pacific 
coast  was  watched  in  its  ownership,  and  transfers 
were  jealously  guarded. 

Above  Santa  Cruz,  between  it  and  Pescadero, 
were  two  or  three  lonely  landings,  where  only 
lime  in  barrels  and  lumber,  were  shipped  from  the 
forest  hills  of  the  towering  coast  range.  And  as 
many  as  a  dozen  fleet  schooners,  some  of  them 
of  two  or  three  hundred  tons,  plied  to  these 
out-of-the-way  spots,  doing  a  thriving  business  in 


THE     PIRATE    OF    WILLIAMS     LAX  DIM,  71 

carrying  material  for  the  San  Francisco  market. 
There  were  no  custom-houses  or  officers  at  these 
insignificant  landings,  and  at  one  of  them,  several 
very  fine  schooners  were  owned  by  the  brother  of 
a  man  who  became  one  of  the  most  renowned  of 
the  Southern  privateer  captains. 

In  that  immediate  region,  a  scattered  population 
of  about  a  thousand,  was  quite  "  solidly  secesh  " — 
to  use  the  phrase  of  those  days.  And  into  this 
region,  few  Union  men  ventured  alone.  Consta- 
ble, sheriff,  tax  collector,  and  assessor  of  Abe  Lin- 
coln's new  taxes  gave  it  a  very  wide  berth. 

The  audacious  capture  of  the  Pacific  Mail 
Steamers'  liner  Ariel  by  the  Alabama,  on  Novem- 
ber 18,  1862,  in  the  Atlantic,  showed  how  easily 
a  great  weak  mail  steamer,  loaded  with  non-com- 
batants, would  succumb.  There  were  busy  brains 
pondering  over  this  problem  on  the  Santa  Cruz 
coast,  and  men  who  roundly  cursed  the  captain  of 
the  Alabama  for  taking  an  empty  steamer  bound 
from  New  York  down  to  Aspinwall,  instead  of  the 
gold-laden  mate,  which  came  up,  two  days  later, 
with  two  millions  of  gold  aboard,  on  the  same 
route. 

But,  from  the  Santa  Cruz  coast  of  California, 
the  outgoing  treasure-laden  Pacific  Mail  steamers, 
bound  from  San  Francisco  to  Panama,  could  be 
seen  any  fair  day  as  they  slanted  down  the  coast, 
shaving  Monterey  point  close.  And,  an  elaborated 
plan  was  ready — the  only  thing  was  to  get  the 
vessels  and  the  guns.     The  men,  a  hundred  hardy 


72  THE    PIRATE    OF    WILLIAMS    LANDING 

riflemen,  whose  boarding  bravery  would  easily  do 
the  trick,  could  be  had  in  the  disloyal  legion  re- 
ferred to. 

I  was  in  those  days  a  very  ardent  sportsman,  a 
hardy  rider,  and,  from  Santa  Cruz  as  a  central 
point,  had  hunted  and  fished  over  the  whole  coast 
range  of  the  country.  The  easy  freemasonry  of 
the  chase  and  a  policy  of  backsheesh  as  to  sporting 
gear  and  ammunition,  made  me  hail  fellow  well 
met  with  the  good-humored  Southern  lads  of  even 
this  disgruntled  region.  I  was  an  ardent  young 
"  Union  Leaguer,"  and  being  vicariously  drilled  as 
a  possible  recruit  in  a  Santa  Cruz  military  com- 
pany. At  seventeen,  I  was  able  to  handle  a  four- 
teen-pound Harper's  Ferry  musket,  with  more  or 
less  dexterity. 

The  only  suspicious  movement  of  the  Southern- 
ers near  us  had  been  the  sudden  disappearance 
in  the  night  during  the  winter  of  sixty-two,  of  a 
very  excellent  thirty-two  pounder  which  was  a 
trophy  of  the  capture  of  Monterey  by  Commodore 
Sloat.  This  gun  was  the  pride  of  the  citizens  of 
Santa  Cruz,  and  was  our  local  standby.  In  some 
mysterious  manner  it  disappeared,  and  as  far  as 
this  deponent  knoweth  has  never  turned  up 
since.  The  circumstance  was  a  fortunate  one,  for 
it  put  every  Union  man  in  the  county  upon  his 
mettle,  and  much  neighborhood  spying  was  the 
result. 

I  enjoyed  the  close  acquaintance  of  the  Collector 
of  the  Port,  a  fine  young  man,  a  prominent  Union 


THE    PIRATE    OF    WILLIAMS    LANDING  73 

Leaguer,  and  one  who  made  a  brave  and  gallant 
officer  in  the  field  later.  I  was  privately  requested, 
as  a  sort,  of  leader  among  the  lads  of  the  whole 
region  for  fifty  miles  around,  to  watch  every  one 
of  my  young  Southern  cronies  for  any  possible 
bragging  as  to  where  that  gun  went. 

There  was  a  shock-haired  friend  of  mine,  a 
youth  of  eighteen,  who  lived  near  Williams  Land- 
ing, one  of  these  lonely  little  ports  about  sixteen 
miles  north  of  Santa  Cruz.  He  was  of  Southern 
parentage  and  lived  "  up  Williams  Creek."  We 
had  been  greatly  drawn  to  each  other  in  sundry 
mussel  gathering  raids,  in  trips  shooting  sea  lions 
and  hair  seals  along  the  lonely  coast.  He  had 
taught  me  how  to  find  store  of  great  sea  fish  trapped 
at  low  tide,  in  the  jagged  holes  of  the  rocky  bench. 
We  had  "  plastered  "  the  ducks  and  curlew  and 
wild  geese  together.  His  people  were  land  rich 
and  money  poor,  and  on  his  visits  to  Santa  Cruz, 
he  "  struck  me  "  when  short  of  pocket  money.  I 
regarded  this  good-natured  oaf  as  the  greatest 
"  all-round "  man  whom  I  had  ever  met.  His 
wood  lore  was  equal  to  his  open  country  work 
and  his  beach-combing.  An  athlete  and  a  child  of 
nature,  "  nothing  fazed  him,"  and  so,  when  in  the 
early  spring  of  sixty-three  he  gave  me  a  rough  in- 
vitation to  visit  his  ranch,  I  saddled  up  my  horse. 

I  left  my  gun,  for  he  confided  to  me,  in  return 
for  a  lot  of  fishing  gear,  that  he  had  struck  the 
greatest  hole  for  trout  that  was  known  in  the 
whole    coast  range,  and   he   had    not   given    this 


74  THE    PIRATE    OF   WILLIAMS    LANDING 

momentous  secret  away.  I  was  bent  only  on  sport 
as  we  rode  along,  and  it  was  toward  evening,  when 
we  rode  up  to  Williams  Landing,  a  little  port 
which  I  had  never  seen. 

Four  miles  above  it  on  a  considerable  creek,  was 
this    hospitable    Arkansas  youth's    family  head- 
quarters.    I  stood  and  gazed  in  surprise  at  the 
high  rocky  bluff  nearly  a  hundred  feet  high,  with 
a  great  longitudinal  fissure  enabling  the  largest 
schooner  to  lay  within  the  rectangular  chasm  in 
smooth,  oily  water.     There  was  a  conformation  of 
the  coast  which  made  this  almost  land-encircled 
nook  safe  for  schooners  to  lie   at  anchor,  and  I 
noticed  a  splendid  schooner  lying  buoyed  out  in 
the  open,  there,  while  another,  her  tall  topmasts 
not  reaching  to  the  rocky  bluffs,  was  moored  in  the 
chasm   with   side    lines.     Two    powerful    steam 
engines,  with  the  very  heaviest  tackle,  were  load- 
ing the  vessel  below  with  huge  clumps  of  barreled 
lime  and  great   bunches  of  sawed  lumber.     The 
gray,  oily  waves  heaved  the  kelp  outside,  the  sea 
bird  flew  along  at  the  level  of  our  feet,  and  the 
blue  ocean  stretched  out,  a  sapphire  zone,  to  where 
we  could  see  the  great  steamers  pointing  down 
the  coast  for  Panama.     I  watched  the  lime  and 
lumber   coming   down   the   ravines   on   a   rough 
wooden  track  train-way  by  gravity,  and,  admiring 
the  whole  affair,  politely  declined  to  go  down  to 
the  schooner  below  in  a  cage.     Far  down,  on  the 
rocky  ledges  of  the  chasm,  where  shelves  had  been 
blasted  out,  I  could  see  great  masses  of  freight  and 


TIIK    PIRATE   OF   WILLIAMS    LANDING 

boxed  machinery  tor  the  dozen  or  more  sawmills, 
then  engaged  in  ruining  the  magnificent,  never-to- 
be-replaced  redwood  forests.  There  were  only  a 
few  rough-looking  workmen  around.  No  one  lived 

there,  except,  in  a  couple  of  cabins,  the  operating 
force  who  worked  this  enormous  loading  and  un- 
loading machinery.  It  was  the  only  place  where 
a  safe  landing  could  be  had  and  heavy  material 
handled  in  fifty  miles. 

For  loneliness,  it  left  nothing  to  be  desired.  We 
rode  away  up  the  incense-breathing  redwood 
canyons,  and,  before  the  stars  were  out,  our  horses 
were  comfortably  stabled,  and  I  had  been  hospi- 
tably received  by  the  kindly  old  mother  of  my 
friend.  A  great  rambling  old  frontier  farmhou 
with  lean-to's  and  extensions,  was  hidden  in  a 
beautiful  creek  bottom,  encircled  with  huge  barns, 
and  evidence  of  much  easily-gotten  gear  in  flocks 
and  herds.  For  the  lands  of  the  clan  were  princely 
in  extent,  bought  from  the  old  Spaniards  for  a 
song.  The  two  or  three  brothers  and  sisters  ot 
younger  years  avoided  us,  and  I  was  treated  with 
the  usual  Southern  hospitality  due  to  a  stranger 
boy.  It  was  the  custom  there  for  lads  to  ex- 
change these  informal  hospitalities  without  let  or 
hindrance. 

I  was  thinking  of  nothing  but  the  famous  trout 
pool,   and,  not  long  after  daybreak,  we  had   been 
regaled  with  bacon  and  eggs,  coffee  and  biscuit, 
and,  saddling  up,  we  ascended  the  wild  glen  » 
cral   miles.     It    was  the    time  of   life's   ambrosial 


76  THE    PIRATE   OF   WILLIAMS    LANDING 

morning,  and  a  wilder  scene  of  beauty  never  met 
my  eyes  than  that  lonely  canyon  on  the  Santa 
Cruz  hills.  Quail  whirred  away  before  us  with 
stormy  burst,  the  gray  squirrel  chattered  in  the 
trees,  the  hare  fled  before  us,  and  the  big  blue 
pigeons  hovered  around  all  defiant  of  our  innocent 
fishing  poles. 

But,  when  we  tied  our  horses  behind  a  great 
clump  of  laurel,  and  I  was  cautiously  led  to  an 
overhanging  rock,  I  saw  below  me  a  great  boil- 
ing black  pool,  hollowed  out  by  a  perpendicular 
waterfall  dropping  twenty  feet  over  a  ledge  of 
hard  rock  that  the  stream  could  not  wear  away. 
The  pool  was  some  two  hundred  feet  in  diameter. 
"  They're  in  there,  dead  oodles  of  them,"  gasped 
my  friend.  I  was  the  monopolist  of  the  excur- 
sion, for  I  had  paid  in  advance,  and  he  was  pledged 
not  to  fish  !  I  can  never  forget  the  thrill  with  which 
I  saw  a  great  trout  rise,  instanter,  at  my  first  cast. 
I  forgot  all  my  surroundings  for  the  next  thirty 
minutes,  for  I  had  landed  nineteen  superb  brook 
trout,  weighing,  when  cleaned,  twenty-seven 
pounds.  "  Now,  that's  enough  for  once,"  ex- 
claimed the  "  proprietor."  "  I  don't  want  no  one 
ever  to  know,  but  you  and  I,  what  fish  is  in  the 
pool." 

And,  though  excited  and  elated  with  the  electric 
dash  of  the  splendid  imprisoned  fish,  I  was  forced 
to  discontinue.  The  creek  ran  out  of  the  boiling 
pool  in  a  thin  shallow  of  low  sandy  beach,  and  the 
beautiful  captives  there  were  fattened  with  store 


THE    PIRATE   OF   WILLIAMS    LANDING  77 

of  worm,  and  grub,  and   butterfly  brought  down 
by  the  current.     I   never  saw  such  a  fishing  pool 

before,  nor,  this  one  since  ! 

As  we  slowly  retraced  our  way  to  the  ranch, 
we  laid  out  a  quail  and  squirrel  hunt,  and  I  wa 
tired  and  happy  sportsman  as  we  returned  laden 
with  game  after  dark.  1  had  packed  my  fish  with 
care  in  two  saddle  bags,  with  grass  and  cool 
leaves,  and  I  regretted  the  long  foray  of  the  day 
which  prevented  me  from  riding  home  to  Santa 
Cruz. 

The  family  had  dined  when  wc  returned,  and 
the  Chinese  cook  set  out  the  remains  of  the  din- 
ner for  us  without  a  word.  We  made  a  hearty 
meal,  and  I  was  just  finishing  the  evening  toilet 
of  my  horse,  when  one  of  the  youngsters  came 
down  and  called  my  companion,  who  was  attend- 
ing to  his  own  favorite  animal.  The  heir  of  a 
great  estate,  he  came  and  went  as  he  listed,  igno- 
rant of  school,  and  growing  up  as  wild  as  a  young 
Scythian.  He  came  running  back,  and,  saddling 
his  horse  in  a  jiffy,  cried:  "  I've  got  to  go  on  a 
message  for  the  old  man!  It's  fifteen  miles  to 
Sayante,  and  it'll  be  long  after  midnight,  when  I 
get  back.     You  just  go  to  my  room  and  turn  in." 

I  smoked  a  surreptitious  pipe  in  the  corral,  and. 
finally  becoming  lonely,  wandered  into  the 
house,  and  throwing  off  my  clothes,  went  to  sleep 
in  the  youth's  room.  I  was  awakened  in  a  couple 
of  hours  by  loud  and  earnest  talking.  I  could 
hear  the  shuffling  of  feet,  the  clinking 


78  THE    PIRATE    OF    WILLIAMS    LANDING 

and,  to  my  astonishment,  there  seemed  to  be  forty 
or  fifty  men  gathered  in  the  great  living  rooms  of 
the  ranch  house.  I  crept  to  the  door  of  my  dark- 
ened room,  which  was  a  little  ajar,  and  saw  that  a 
hardy  band  of  frontiersmen  were  crowded  into 
the  house.  With  a  trembling  hand,  I  closed  the 
little  door  tightly,  and  turned  the  button  of  the 
simple  fastening.  Soon  the  bottle  circulated,  and 
shouts  and  cries  rose  which  told  me  that  I  was  a 
secret  witness  of  a  meeting  of  the  Knights  of  the 
Golden  Circle.  I  examined  the  little  room  on  the 
first  floor  and  found  that  there  was  a  window 
which  I  could  slip  out  of,  and  friendly  shrubbery 
to  cover  me.  I  dared  not  move  around,  and  so,  I 
lay  quiet  and  heard  the  hidden  story  of  the  splen- 
did schooner  lying  at  the  buoy  outside. 

There  were  sailors  and  men  to  be  picked  for  her 
from  the  fleet  of  the  mill-owners.  There  were 
people  who  were  to  come  to  take  her  out  to  sea, 
and  there  was  "  heavy  machinery  "  and  "  boxed 
iron  castings,"  which  would  be  loaded  by  means 
of  the  powerful  hoisting  machinery.  I  found  out 
soon  where  the  stolen  cannon  had  gone !  It  was 
hidden  somewhere  ready  to  be  placed  upon  the 
schooner.  And,  bit  by  bit,  the  whole  outfit  was 
being  got  together  for  a  heavy  armament  of  the 
schooner  I  had  seen.  The  men  were  to  secretly 
assemble,  and,  when  all  was  ready,  the  peaceful- 
looking  boat  would  stand  out  into  the  track  of  the 
Pacific  Mail  steamers.  A  false  deck  cargo  of  light 
lumber  would  conceal  the  gun. 


THE    IURATE    OF    WILLIAMS    LANDING  79 

And,  with  a  reversed  flag,  the  sign  of  distress, 
the  steamer  would  be  halted,  and,  between  board- 
ing tactics  and  the  guns,  the  gold  shipment  was  to 
be  secured.  Men  were  to  be  put  aboard  the  out- 
going steamer  as  steerage  passengers  who  would 
spring  to  arms  and  aid  in  the  capture. 

I  might  have  heard  more,  but  I  crept  into  my 
clothes,  and  dropping  out  of  the  window,  found 
my  way  down  to  the  barn.  In  ten  minutes,  I  was 
stealing  down  the  glen,  for  I  had  no  trouble  in 
leaving  the  house  surrounded  with  forty  or  fifty 
horses  tied  to  the  shade  trees.  I  had  a  very  good 
excuse  for  a  lonely  boy's  idea  of  riding  home,  but,  a 
better  one  burned  in  my  bosom.  The  moment  the 
Hen  widened  I  rode  off  the  road  and  soon  was 
working  my  wray  down  the  coast  road.  No  one  at 
the  ranch  knew  whence  I  came,  none  whither  I  had 
gone/Save  the  lad,  who  sagely  concluded  that  I  had 
got  tired  and  gone  home.  I  was  too  stunned  and 
excited  to  take  any  unusual  precautions  save  rid- 
ing off  the  road.  I  had  saved  my  precious  catch  of 
trout,  and  my  fishing  gear  was  in  the  barn  with 
my  saddle-bags.  If  my  face  had  been  seen  or  mv 
name  been  known,  I  might  have  fared  badly.  But 
the  gathered  delegates  were  all  trusty  men  from 
the  canyons  around,  and  none  rode  down  the  bleak 
wind  swept  coast  to  Santa  Cruz. 

I  arrived  at  home  near  daybreak,  and  it  was  not 
long  before  two  or  three  of  the  most  prudent  of 
the  Union  League  knew  the  strange  story  of  my  ex- 
perience.    The  whole  scheme  was  in  embryo,  the 


80  THE    PIRATE    OF    WILLIAMS    LANDING 

scheme  just  hatching  out.  It  happened  that  one 
of  the  lime  shippers,  a  man  of  great  wealth  and 
vigor,  was  a  pronounced  Union  man.  To  him,  the 
frustration  of  the  scheme  was  intrusted. 

It  was  not  desirable  to  precipitate  a  local  con- 
flict. We  feared  the  results  of  individual  ven- 
geance, and  by  a  wise  discretion,  the  Union  League 
smuggled  a  few  good  men  into  the  employ  of  the 
landing  crew.  One  or  two  government  detectives 
watched  all  future  shipments  from  San  Francisco 
to  Williams  Landing.  There  were  several  little 
buildings  run  up  at  Williams  Landing,  where  a 
"  store  "  suddenly  blossomed  out.  There  were 
gradual  changes  in  the  command  of  the  schooners 
bringing  freight,  and  every  vessel  had  a  detective 
on  board.  There  were  no  arrests  of  suspected 
members  of  the  unlawful  gathering,  but,  that 
branch  of  the  u  Knights  "  never  flourished  after- 
ward ! 

It  was  found  out  later  that  the  conspirators  be- 
came alarmed  at  the  control  of  the  landing  going 
gradually  out  of  their  hands,  and  so,  the  plan  was 
substantially  changed.  The  beautiful  schooner 
soon  left  the  buoy  outside  the  natural  drydock. 
Even  the  dull  frontiersman  could  see  that  their 
game  had  been  mysteriously  stopped. 

And,  bit  by  bit,  some  heavy  packages  were  re- 
turned to  San  Francisco  consigned  "to  order." 
All  this  was  done  under  the  keen  eyes  of 
Federal  officials.  It  was  eight  months  after  my 
discovery   that   the    expedition    was   really    cap. 


THE    PIRATE    OF    WILLIAMS    LAND!  8l 

tured  at  the  wharves  at  San  Francisco,  where 
the  fine  schooner  was  ostensibly  being  Loaded 
with  '*  heavy  machinery  "  for  Mexico  !  The 
breaking  of  a  tackle  exposing  some  contraband  of 
war,  and  the  pouncing  down  of  the  United  States 
detectives  who  had  followed  part  of  the  goods 
back,  caused  three  very  able  Southern  schemers  to 
spend  some  years  in  prison,  after  being  tried  for 
piracy.  The  whole  coast  from  Panama  to  Van- 
couver was  closely  watched  thereafter,  and  the 
foolhardy  attempt  was  not  repeated  during  the  war. 
And,  for  many  long  years  very  few  of  the  local 
wiseacres  knew  that  a  boy's  fishing  trip  led  to  the 
u  Pirate  of  Williams  Landing  "  going  out  of  busi- 
ness ! 


THE  WHITE   INDIAN 

BY 

RICHARD  HENRY  SAVAGE 


HE   DIED    FIGHTING    LIKE   A    RAT 


THE  WHITE  INDIAN. 


In  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and  sixty-eight, 
there  were  few  localities  in  the  still  unsettled  west 
more  dangerous  for  residence  than  Pinal,  Gila,  and 
Graham  counties,  Arizona.  Situated  on  the 
upper  waters  of  the  Gila  River,  they  were  con- 
tinually traversed  by  parties  of  emigrants  moving 
along  the  old  Southern  Overland  Road. 

The  whole  trail  from  El  Paso  to  Fort  Yuma  was 
infested  with  deserters,  disbanded  guerrilla  sol- 
diers, Mexican  horse  thieves,  and  villains  of  every 
description,  for  the  war  had  left  its  fearful  legacy 
of  utter  demoralization. 

There  was  not  a  single  military  post  in  the  great 
triangular  plain  of  Southern  Arizona,  once  in- 
habited by  a  powerful  and  peaceful  people.  The 
dwellers  in  the  Casas  Grandes  have  left  an  area  of 
a  thousand  square  miles  covered  with  fragments 
of  their  beautiful  pottery.  Their  irrigating 
ditches,  their  mud-walled  forts,  their  four-story 
houses  of  sun-dried  bricks,  and  all  the  vestiges  of 
a  forgotten  life,  tell  of  a  great  vanished  people  who 
were  cornplanters  and  owners  of  vast  herds  of 
sheep.  It  seems  that  neat  cattle  and  the  horse 
came  in  later,  with  the  Conquisadores. 


86  THE    WHITE    INDIAN 

The  Gila  River,  a  priceless  boon  to  the  traveler, 
winds  from  its  source  in  the  New  Mexican  moun- 
tains, eight  hundred  miles  to  its  junction  with  the 
mighty  Colorado  at  Fort  Yuma.  Its  green  banks 
broke  the  awful  monotony  ol  the  burning,  bare 
rocks,  gray,  sandy  wastes,  cactus  plains,  and 
chapparal  groves,  which  swept  from  Point 
Isabel,  Texas,  on  the  Gulf  of  Mexico,  to  San 
Diego  on  the  far  shores  of  California.  The  arable 
lands  along  the  Gila,  from  three  to  twenty  miles 
wide,  then  afforded  a  home  to  the  peaceful  Pimas, 
Papagoes,  and  Maricopas — the  three  friendly  tribes 
whose  pride  is  that  they  have  never  seen  the  color 
of  a  white  man's  blood. 

But,  hanging  high  over  the  valley  dwellers, 
from  the  peaks  of  the  White  Mountains  and  the 
Black  Hills,  the  baleful  signal  fires  of  the  Apaches 
glittered  by  night,  giving  warning  of  any  arids 
from  the  three  strong  army  posts  at  Fort 
McDowell,  Camp  Grant  and  Prescott.  These 
with  Fort  Yuma  and  Fort  Mohave  were  the 
central  strongholds  of  the  dispirited  troops.  A 
series  of  isolated  mountains  breaking  across  the 
three  counties  named  gave  an  ample  opportunity 
for  the  murderous  Apaches  to  steal  over  from 
their  interior  fastnesses  of  Arizona  to  the  Sierra 
Madres  of  Sonora.  These  hiding  places  were 
impregnable.  Only  the  Apaches  knew  the  hid- 
den water  holes.  In  the  canyons  of  the  Salt 
River  and  Gila  range,  the  red-handed  hill  dwell- 
ers mustered,  and  watching  for  small  trains,  weak 


THE    WHITE    INDIAN  87 

escorts,  and  parties  of  half-armed  emigrants,  they 
swooped  down  upon  them,  with  fiendish  atrocity. 
The  most  valuable  captured  horses  were  run  over 
to  Sonora  and  sold  at  half  price,  the  easy-going 
Mexicans  selling  these  same  Apaches  cartridges 
and  guns.  As  on  the  upper  Missouri,  a  guilty 
profit-seeking  left  one-half  of  the  white  commu- 
nity victims  of  the  wiles  of  the  other.  Cattle  and 
sheep  were  driven,  when  captured,  into  the  con- 
cealed villages  of  the  Apaches,  the  horses  stolen 
in  Arizona  and  Sonora  always  being  traded  off. 

The  Apache  marauders  were  essentially  foot 
Indians  and  adepts  in  following  on  after  careless 
travelers,  always  swooping  down  when  the  victory 
was  a  foregone  conclusion.  Dodging  the  troops, 
they  made  their  raids  before  and  behind  the 
soldiers,  concealing  themselves  when  hard  pressed 
with  wonderful  skill.  I  have  seen  twenty  Indians 
hide  themselves  in  a  circle  of  two  hundred  yards, 
and,  I  was  forced  to  give  up,  and  call  them  out  of 
their  wonderfully  ingenious  concealment. 

An  abandoned  acequia,  a  trifling  gully,  sufficed 
to  hide  at  short  notice  a  murderous  band  of  twenty 
to  forty.  In  1868,  there  was  not  a  rail  laid  in  Ari- 
zona, nor,  anything  but  an  adobe  to  be  seen  from 
Fort  Yuma  to  Tucson.  The  respectable  whites 
on  the  Gila  ended  at  Florence,  and  a  few  scattered 
ranches  on  the  upper  Gila  were  tenanted  by  rene- 
gades and  castaways  who  had  some  mysterious 
freemasonry  binding  them  to  all  wrongdoers. 

In  those  days,  the  man  going  through  McDowell 


88  THE    WHITE    INDIAN 

Canyon,  the  Picacho,  or  to  Prescott,  waited  for 
some  passing  escort  or  joined  other  well-armed 
travelers.  For,  verily  a  man  took  his  life  in  his 
own  hand.  On  one  occasion,  I  camped  with  ten 
men  on  the  wild  waste  north  of  the  Gila,  and  we 
counted  seventeen  Indian  fires  blazing  forth  the 
Apaches'  stern  defiance  to  the  white  man  and  his 
menace  to  the  Spaniards  whom  he  has  harried  for 
two  hundred  years !  "  Hardly  more  than  one- 
half  a  man  to  a  camp,"  said  "  Big  Blair,"  my  fron- 
tier guide,  laughing  grimly.  "  Ten  men  and 
seventeen  Indian  fires."  I  was  too  much  busied 
with  certain  bitter  reflections  on  the  policy  of 
sending  soldiers  out  in  knots,  to  fight  Apaches  in 
droves,  to  appreciate  Blair's  wit ! 

A  continual  nefarious  traffic  and  crossing  from 
Arizona  to  Sonora  for  years  had  enriched  many  un- 
scrupulous trading  Mexicans.  The  Apaches  dis- 
dained chaffering  and  paid  royally  in  captured 
horses,  wagons,  trinkets,  jewels,  and  money,  for 
the  three  things  they  craved — rum,  cartridges,  and 
weapons. 

But,  it  became  apparent  at  last  in  the  unerring 
success  of  the  Apaches'  raids  on  the  upper  Gila, 
that  they  were  aided  by  keen-witted  friends  along 
the  lines  of  the  Gila.  Valuable  horses  stolen  from 
Sonora  were  distributed  along  the  Gila,  their 
brands  artfully  altered ;  government  arms  and 
ammunition  were  found  in  the  few  Apache  camps 
raided,  for  the  Indians,  from  their  fastnesses,  could 
often  watch  the  troops  toiling  on  for  days  and 


THE    WHITE     INDIAN  89 

elude  them  with  the  greatest  ease.  But,  several 
well-planned  descents  of  the  troops  signally  failed 
in  the  fall  of  '68,  and  a  general  feeling  of  indignation 
arose  against  the  treacherous  Americans  who  would 
aid  the  crudest  murderers  of  the  West.  For,  there 
seemed  to  be  a  fiendish  delight  in  the  Apaches' 
work  of  devastation.  Whole  trains  of  half-guarded 
freight  wagons  had  been  tipped  over  into  the  can- 
yons, the  hamstrung  mules  following  the  wrecked 
vehicles. 

The  good  faith  of  the  Pimos,  Papagoes,  and 
Maricopas  was  stainless,  for  twice  a  year,  they 
gathered,  and  sweeping  north  of  the  Gila  in  par- 
ties of  two  or  three  hundred,  drove  in  the  Apache 
outposts,  fighting  some  very  creditable  skirmishes. 
The  work  could  not  be  done  from  the  stations 
along  the  Gila,  for  the  Apaches  would  not  dare  to 
peaceably  exchange  their  Sonora  horses,  Mexican 
plunder,  and  the  spoils  of  the  American  for  cart- 
ridges, weapons,  and  rum.  There  was  an  un- 
written code  of  death  to  the  man  who  sold  these 
things  to  Indians.  The  county  officials  and  army 
officers  decided  that  there  must  be  a  meeting  place 
for  these  exchanges,  or,  that  some  of  the  ranches 
of  the  upper  Gila  were  tenanted  by  renegades, 
who  made  the  Apaches'  work  effective.  And  yet, 
with  a  great  deal  of  quiet  scouting,  no  traces  were 
discovered  of  the  Apaches'  secret  friends. 

In  a  few  months,  the  plunder  of  ingoing  and  out- 
coming  trains  in  the  vicinity  of  the  junction  of  the 
San  Pedro  and  Gila  became  alarming.     Though 


90  THE    WHITE    INDIAN 

some  trains  would  move  south  between  Desert 
Peak  and  the  Santa  Catalina  Range,  others  follow 
the  San  Pedro,  and  yet  others,  linger  along  in  sight 
of  the  green  oasis  of  the  Gila,  the  record  of  re- 
lentless murder  and  successful  surprise  was  an 
astonishing  one. 

It  soon  became  a  self-evident  truth  that  the 
Apaches  were  skillfully  handled  and  dodged  across 
the  desert,  from  the  Mexican  to  the  American 
side,  and  were  directed  with  a  foreknowledge  of 
the  possible  plunder.  Only  the  great  trains  of 
twenty  prairie  schooners  hauling  the  goods  for 
Tucson,  Arizona's  largest  city,  from  the  head  of 
steam  navigation  at  Fort  Yuma,  were  left  un- 
attacked.  Each  wagon,  with  four  well-armed  men, 
was  a  moving  fortification.  The  army  escorts,  in 
parties  of  twenty,  were  safe,  for  the  breechloader 
was  too  much  then  for  the  Apaches'  old  guns. 
Like  all  American  Indians,  the  Apaches  were  ab- 
solutely destitute  of  mechanical  ability,  being  un- 
able to  repair  the  slightest  defect  in  a  gun  or  its 
mechanism.  There  were  no  bands  of  hostile  Mexi- 
cans settled  upon  the  upper  Gila,  and  the  discov- 
ery of  some  arms  taken  from  dead  Apaches,  which 
had  been  neatly  repaired,  proved  at  last  that  the 
hated,  shock-headed,  stunted  murderers  had  secret 
friends  in  the  settlements  near  by. 

1  had  pondered  long  over  this  situation  of  affairs 
and  made  up  my  mind  that  the  clearing  house  of 
this  frontier  villainy,  the  secret  headquarters  of  the 
organized  raids,  was  near  the  junction  of  the  San 


THE    WHITE     INDIAN  9 1 

Pedro  and  Gila.  There  were  six  ranges  of  moun- 
tains on  the  south  for  observation  posts  and  hiding 
places,  and,  a  fan-like  arrangement  of  hills  and 
gullys  north  of  the  river  leading  into  Apachedom, 
where  King  Cochise  reigned  supreme. 

And  so,  when  I  was  sent  on  a  quest  as  far  as  San 
Carlos  and  Mount  Trumbull,  I  determined  to  keep 
my  eyes  and  ears  open.  I  had  a  sergeant  and  ten 
reliable  cavalry  men,  and  I  had  promised  the  men 
a  handsome  reward  for  any  discovery  of  note. 
Especially  in  the  little  stations  along  the  lonely 
route,  I  bade  them  be  on  the  lookout  for  men 
trying  to  buy  their  carbines  or  ammunition  or  the 
government  revolvers.  I  made  up  my  mind  that 
if  I  could  trap  the  illicit  traders,  I  might  find 
the  much  desired  missing  link.  And,  with  three 
friendly  Indians,  I  visited  every  ranch  on  the  Gila 
from  Parker's  Peak  to  San  Carlos. 

We  had  stopped  at  a  squalid  little  clump  of 
jacales  near  the  junction  of  the  San  Pedro,  and 
carefully  made  our  camp  for  the  night.  To  each 
man,  his  horse  and  arms  represented  his  life,  and 
the  four  pack  mules  loaded  with  rations  repre- 
sented the  Delmonico  part  of  Arizona  army  life, 
bacon,  coffee,  and  hard  tack.  There  were  two  or 
three  frowsy  Mexican  women  lounging  around, 
and  I  narrowly  examined  the  whole  "  outfit,"  as 
we  chaffered  for  chickens  and  eggs.  A  few 
thatched  huts,  a  couple  of  iron  pots,  a  bit  of  corn 
land,  and  a  scratchy  selection  of  the  smaller  ani- 
mals were  the  entire  visible  wealth  of  the  colon  v. 


92  THE    WHITE    INDIAN 

One  or  two  Indian  women,  a  sick  Mexican,  and  a 
couple  of  Papagoes,  playing  cards  on  a  horse 
blanket,  made  up  the  personnel. 

With  a  sense  of  the  menacing  nearness  of  the 
Tortilla  Mountains,  I  posted  a  guard  of  two  men, 
to  be  relieved  every  two  hours,  over  the  horses 
and  mules,  which  were  hobbled  and  loosely  tied 
with  long  picket  ropes.  I  divided  the  labors  with 
the  Sergeant  of  inspecting  the  camp  every  two 
hours,  for  the  absence  of  men  seemed  to  be  a  sus- 
picious feature  of  the  little  settlement. 

It  was  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  when  the 
sentinel  whom  I  had  just  changed,  brought  his  gun 
down  to  an  order,  and  whispered,  "  Lieutenant,  I 
wish  to  speak  to  you,  privately."  We  wandered 
away,  out  of  earshot,  and  my  steady  old  soldier, 
Sidney,  gave  me  the  first  clue  of  importance  as  to 
the  vicinity  of  the  evil-minded  league.  I  had  no 
fatih  in  the  light  cavalry  carbine,  and  so,  had  armed 
my  eleven  men  with  the  reliable  old  long  Spring- 
field infantry  gun,  good  to-day  to  kill  a  man  every 
time,  at  a  thousand  yards. 

"  I  was  walkin'  post,  Lieutenant,  when  one  of  the 
men,  hanging  around  here,  slipped  up  and  offered 
me  some  whisky.  Time  was  when  it  would  have 
been  a  temptation!  I  couldn't  see  the  fellow's 
face,  but  he  had  no  hat  on,  and  bushy  hair,  and 
he  was  rigged  out  in  Mexican  style.  Then,  he  ups 
and  offers  to  buy  my  gun  and  cartridges.  I  would 
have  called  the  Sergeant,  but,  I  remembered  what 
you  told  me,  and,  so  I  jollied  him  on,  a  bit.    '  You're 


THE    WHITE     INDIAN  93 

going  on  up  country  toward  Dragoon  Springs?' 
he  said,  '  and,  of  course,  the  Lieutenant  will  follow 
the  Gila  back  again.  If  you'll  fix  it  wrhen  you 
stop  over  here,  so  that  we  can  get  five  or  six  of 
the  big  army  rifles,  and  all  the  cartridges  you  can 
steal,  I'll  give  you  a  hundred  dollars  a  gun,  in 
greenbacks,  and  a  dollar  a  cartridge.' 

"  I  led  him  on  a  bit,  and  he  agreed  it  wouldn't 
do  to  steal  the  guns  on  the  trip  up.  'No!  The 
Lieutenant  is  a  fighting  man.  He  would  tie  up 
every  man  in  sight,  till  the  missing  rifles  were 
produced.  But,  on  the  way  home,  I  can  fix  it  so 
as  to  give  you  the  money  for  the  whole  eleven.' ' 

"  Do  you  live  at  this  ranch?"  said  I,  and  then 
he  said,  pointing  to  a  little  island  in  the  Gila, 
1  Come  over  there  at  daybreak,  and  I'll  talk  things 
over  with  you.  I'll  give  you  twenty  bottles  of 
whisky  for  twenty  cartridges.  We  are  short  of 
the  government  ammunition,  and  we  don't  kill 
soldiers  enough,  to  keep  us  going.'  ' 

The  stout  sentinel  paused,  "  Now,  what's  my 
tip,  Sir?"  I  thought  over  the  situation  briefly. 
"  I  am  determined  to  probe  this  matter,  Sidney," 
said  I  ;  "  Come  to  my  tent  at  daybreak.  I  will 
give  you  twenty  fresh  metallic  rifle  cartridges. 
Let  Maxon,  your  chum,  follow  you  over  there  at 
daybreak,  ready  with  his  gun  and  belt.  Sell  this 
fellow  the  cartridges  for  the  twenty  bottles  of 
whisky,  and,  if  he  really  offers  the  hundred  dol- 
lars in  good  currency,  let  him  have  Maxon's  gun  ! 
Be  sure  and  keep  the  number  on  the  gun.    It  may 


94  THE    WHITE     INDIAN 

turn  up  in  a  strange  place  jet.  Get  all  the  points 
on  what  kind  of  a  lair  this  fellow  has.  He  speaks 
good  English  ?  " 

"Just  as  clear  as  the  Regimental  Adjutant," 
laughed  Sidney. 

"  All  right,  my  man  !  I'll  give  you  an  extra  re- 
volver, and  don't  either  of  you  stir  a  foot  further 
than  the  place  where  he  meets  you.  And,  size 
him  up  for  good  !  " 

I  turned  in,  thinking  over  the  strange  occurrence, 
and  at  daybreak,  lazily  gave  the  faithful  soldier 
two  packs  of  the  cartridges  almost  priceless  then 
in  Arizona.  Freight  at  fifteen  cents  a  pound  did 
not  cheapen  Uncle  Sam's  powder  and  lead.  The 
camp  was  struck  and  the  horses  saddled,  when 
Sidney  and  Maxon  returned. 

I  heard  their  brief  report,  "  All  right,  Sir  ;  "  and 
Sidney  handed  me  five  twenty-dollar  bills.  "That's 
the  price  of  the  gun,  Sir,  we  buried  the  whisky 
down  at  the  river  bank  !  " 

"  Get  your  breakfast,  men,  and  I'll  send  the 
Sergeant  with  you  to  bring  the  whisky  in.  We 
will  serve  it  out  on  the  march  in  regular  grog 
rations." 

I  was  careful  to  show  no  uneasiness,  for  I  knew 
the  loafing  women  were  perhaps,  trained  spies, 
and  I  strolled  away  from  the  camp  and  examined 
the  five  bills.  They  were  bright  and  new,  and  yet 
on  one  of  them,  were  several  spots  of  unmistak- 
able blood. 

The  murder  of  a  mine  paymaster  on  the  Apache 


THE    WHITE     INDIAN  95 

Pass  road  two  months  before,  with  fourteen  thou- 
sand dollars  in  currency,  flashed  upon  my  mind. 
There  wrere  no  banks  in  Arizona  then,  and  the 
quartermaster's  cash  and  Government  paymaster's 
funds  made  up  most  of  the  circulation.  I  remem- 
bered that  that  sum  had  been  turned  over  by  the 
Tucson  quartermaster's  agent,  in  fresh  funds,  in 
return  for  the  company's  draft  on  the  Sub-Treasury 
at  San  Francisco.  "  I  wonder,"  I  began,  as  I 
spurred  my  good  old  dragoon  horse  "  Stonewall  " 
away,  and  called  for  Maxon  and  Sidney  to  take 
the  advance,  "  I  wonder,  if  I  have  struck  the  nest 
of  '  white  traitors ! '  " 

Riding  out  in  the  advance,  I  listened  to  Sidney's 
story,  "  The  fellow  is  an  American,  sure  enough, 
though  he  wrears  no  hat  and  his  hair  is  as  bushy 
as  an  Apache's.  A  Mexican  shirt,  a  pair  of  hide 
trousers,  soldier's  shoes  and  a  broad  buckskin 
band  around  his  middle,  is  his  entire  rig. 

"  He's  got  a  whole  lot  of  whisky  cached  over 
there  in  the  sand,  and  he  has  built  a  little  hut.  I 
don't  know  what  he  wants  so  many  guns  for !  He 
had  a  dozen  old  guns  lying  around  there,  and  he 
has  an  anvil,  a  vice,  a  fiddle  drill,  and  a  few  odd 
tools.  And  he's  a  rare,  shy  bird,  for  he  wouldn't 
come  over  the  river  with  us,  but  sent  an  Injun 
woman  down  to  the  river  to  show  us  the  ford. 
He  had  a  whole  lot  of  bills.  The  Injun  woman 
looks  like  an  Apache,  too,  blame  me,  if  she  don't. 
He  jabbered  to  her  in  fine  shape." 

I  started  at  the  name  u  Apache,"  for,  in  half  a 


96  THE    WHITE    INDIAN 

day,  that  squaw  could  rouse  any  one  of  a  dozen 
hostile  camps  in  the  big  bend  of  the  Gila. 

"  And  what  did  he  propose  ?  "  I  queried. 

"  He  wouldn't  talk  to  Maxon,  but  he  offered  to 
deposit  a  hundred  dollars  a  gun,  cash,  if  I  could  help 
the  women  at  this  station  steal  all  the  guns  when 
we  come  back.  '  I  must  have  those  guns/  he  said, 
*  and  sooner  than  lose  them,  I'll  double  the  money. 
You  fix  it  so  the  command  will  stay  a  few  days  at  the 
ranch,  on  your  return,'  he  said.  '  Some  of  the  men 
can  play  off  sick — "  lame  old  soldier,"  and,  all  that.^ 

I  did  not  care  to  excite  Sidney's  suspicions  of 
my  ultimate  object,  but,  I  carefully  recorded  the 
number  of  the  gun,  19142,  bearing  the  govern- 
ment eagle  and  the  mark,  "  Springfield,  Mass." 

I  determined,  during  the  march  to  San  Carlos, 
to  ask  the  nearest  responsible  officer  to  send  down 
one  or  two  keen  frontiersmen,  and  a  secret  de- 
tachment to  watch  the  suspicious  rancho.  The 
exorbitant  prices  to  be  paid,  indicated  to  me  a 
desire  of  some  nefarious  parties  to  get  hold  of  a 
dozen  of  the  invincible, wicked,  long  infantry  guns. 

Two  days  after  leaving  San  Pedro,  I  met  a 
pretty  strong  detachment  of  private  prospectors, 
on  their  way  back  to  San  Diego.  They  were 
mostly  Southern  men,  and  had  served  in  the 
war,  whose  echoes  were  hardly  settled.  Well- 
mounted,  well-armed,  and  careless  in  their  daring, 
they  straggled  along  in  knots  of  two  and  three, 
with  no  attempt  at  any  precautions.  A  couple 
of    light    wagons    contained    their    commissary 


THE    WHITE    INDIAN  97 

stores,  and  the  hardy  Texans  and  Missourians 
slept  al fresco. 

We  camped  not  very  far  from  each  other,  and  I 
rode  over  in  the  starlight  with  a  couple  of  men,  to 
warn  the  commander  of  the  suspicious  community 
on  the  San  Pedro.  I  told  the  Major  all  that  was 
prudent  (there  is  always  a  Major  where  there  are 
three  Southern  men),  and  he  laughed  gayly. 

"  We  will  give  them  a  healthy  wrassle,"  he 
cried.  "  There's  only  one  thing  with  Injuns : 
Never  let  'em  get  high  ground,  and  my  men  can 
fight  on  the  individual  plan.  But,  I'm  obliged, 
all  the  same." 

I  finally  persuaded  the  Major  to  pass  by  the 
San  Pedro  hovels  and  camp  beyond,  in  the  open. 
"  Your  splendid  stock  is  a  temptation."  And,  as 
my  command  pressed  on  to  San  Carlos,  I  soon 
forgot  my  rollicking  Southern  friends. 

I  had  passed  a  dozen  trains  of  the  dejected-look- 
ing Southern  emigrants  who  wander  across  the 
continent  from  Arkansas  to  San  Bernardino,  in  a 
fitful  restlessness.  The  patient  jaded  women,  the 
passive  oxen,  the  frowsy  children,  the  bushy- 
bearded  men,  rifle  on  shoulder,  I  well  knew  the 
type,  but  I  served  as  volunteer  doctor,  news- 
monger, topographer,  relief  agent,  and  general 
"  desert  angel  "  to  these  shiftless  ones  wrho  had  left 
one  "  pretty  pore  country  "  to  find  another,  and 
were  now  wandering  along  to  Texas,  where  land 
was  a  drug.  The  cheerful  Apache  reminder  of  a 
burned  wagon  train  and  scattered  human  bones 


98  THE    WHITE    INDIAN 

enlivened  my  route  and,  in  one  place,  traced  with 
burnt  sticks  and  blood  upon  the  shining  rocks, 
were  hideous  insults  to  the  bravery  of  the  whites. 

Sudden  orders  at  San  Carlos  sent  me  whirling 
back  down  the  Gila,  traveling  as  the  crow  flies, 
and  cutting  off  all  the  bends  in  the  road.  Half  rest 
and  double  marching  made  it  a  careworn  squad 
which  rattled  into  Florence,  and  I  was  without 
news  of  the  river  for  a  fortnight.  The  spectacle 
of  my  friend,  the  southern  Major,  seated  in  front 
of  the  "Robert  E.  Lee  House,"  recalled  me  to  the 
intrigues  of  the  San  Pedro  scoundrel.  The 
Major's  right  arm  was  scientifically  swung  in 
bloody  bandages,  and  he  hesitated  not  to  hail  me 
with  the  time-honored  invitation,  "  Hello,  Lieuten- 
ant! Come  and  have  a  drink."  I  dismounted, 
and  was  soon  the  recipient  of  many  professions  of 
his  undying  gratitude. 

While  the  Sergeant  camped  the  command,  I 
listened  to  the  bronzed  wanderer's  story.  "  I  put 
it  up  you  were  blowing  a  little  about  that  corner 
up  there  on  the  river,  but,  somehow,  I  knew  you 
would  have  no  real  interest  in  giving  us  a  fill. 
And  so,  I  minded  your  advice  and  passed  on  by 
there  and  camped,  only  sending  a  couple  of  men 
down  to  buy  some  milk,  eggs,  and  chickens.  I 
kept  a  running  guard  over  the  camp  and  hitched 
the  mules  with  both  chains  and  halters.  In  the 
morning,  I  found  a  regular  trail  beaten  in  the 
chapparral  all  around  us,  but  we  had  four  men  on 
guard,  and  there  was  no  chance  for  a  stampede. 


THE     Will  I  E     INDIAN  99 

"Then,  when  we  pulled  out  toward  FloreiK 
gave  every  man  his  orders.     About  ten  o'clo<  k,  w  e 

came  to  a  long  ravine  with  some  gullies  just  cal- 
culated to  hide  a  bunch  of  Injuns  in  each.  I  sent 
a  couple  of  men  on,  into  the  pass,  and  we  threw 
out  a  couple  more  flankers  on  the  hills.  My  two 
poor  men  were  just  clearing  the  pass  when  a  cloud 
of  Apaches  rose  up  all  around  us.  We  made  one 
wild  dash  for  high  ground,  and  then  spread  to 
fight  them,  for  they  expected  to  see  us  huddle  up 
below. 

"  It  was  the  hottest  little  fight  you  want  to  see, 
and  yet,  in  half  an  hour,  we  had  them  whipped  ! 
They  scrambled  away  in  the  rocks,  but,  we  had 
three  dead  men  and  two  severely  wounded. 

"  They  had  followed  on  and  passed  us  in  the 
night,  and  laid  for  us.  There  was  one  fellow  be- 
hind some  rocks  on  a  low  mound,  who  led  them 
on,  and  he  had  one  of  your  big  army  guns.  We 
got  him  cut  off,  after  he  had  killed  two  of  our 
people,  and  I  then  took  a  hand,  myself,  and 
stationed  three  men  to  keep  alternately  firing  at 
him,  as  he  tried  to  play  snake,  and  wiggle  out  of 
range.  Just  before  I  thought  he  was  laid  out,  he 
bored  me  through  the  forearm  with  an  ounce 
bullet,  and  I  then  sent  the  boys  over  to  strip  him. 
He  laid  still  till  they  were  on  the  knoll  and  then. 
began  to  fire  a  revolver  at  the  astonished  men. 
He  died  fighting  like  a  rat,  and  cursing  in  good 
round  English.  He  was  all  got  up  in  full  Apache 
rig,  and,  Injun  color,  but,  when  we  cut  the  broad 


IOO  THE    WHITE     INDIAN 

band  of  buckskin  off  him,  his  body  was  white  as 
snow.  He  was  the  head  devil  of  the  outfit — a 
white  Apache — too.  The  boys  just  riddled  him 
with  bullets  ! " 

I  was  astounded,  but  I  at  once  demanded  to  see 
the  gun  the  dead  outlaw  had  borne.  There  was 
the  tell-tale  number  19142  on  the  barrel.  "  That 
place  should  be  cleaned  out,"  I  sternly  said. 

"  My  dear  boy,"  cried  the  wounded  Major,  "  the 
boys  went  up  and  burned  the  whole  shebang. 
They  did  not  leave  a  stake  standing.  They  found 
any  amount  of  plunder  hidden  on  the  island  which 
has  been  recognized  as  stolen  in  Apache  raids. 
There  was  a  good  round  sum  of  money,  and, 
worse  and  more  of  it,  there  were  papers  and  bills 
found  in  his  den  addressed  '  Charles  Carter,  Fron- 
teras,  Mexico/  all  for  guns,  ammunition,  and 
whisky.  We  took  the  trouble  to  bring  this  chap's 
head  along,- and  it's  in  the  saloon  there,  in  a  big  jar 
of  his  own  whisky.  One  or  two  Arizona  men  here 
recognize  him  as  a  man  they  have  seen  dealing  in 
splendid  horses  at  Fronteras,  Magdalena,  and 
Hermosillo.  He  has  been  the  head  sneak  for 
these  fellows  here,  no  doubt,  and,  with  the  women, 
piped  off  travelers  and  planned  the  attacks." 

I  led  Sidney  into  the  saloon  and  showed  the 
gaping  soldier  the  dead  renegade's  head!  "  Is 
that  the  man  who  bought  your  gun  ?  "  He 
nodded  gravely.  "  Take  it  back  now,"  I  said. 
"The  Apaches  will  need  another  general  ad- 
vance agent ! " 


SNOWED    IN 


BY 


RICHARD  HENRY  SAVAGE. 


t       a 

•    »    r 
t  • 


:..'.:•'■.■ 


GIVE    IT    TO    HIM 


SNOWED   IN. 


I  WAS  remarkably  light-hearted  on  the  twentieth 
of  November,  eighteen  hundred  and  sixty-nine,  as 
I  mounted  my  horse  to  leave  Round  Valley,  Men- 
docino County,  California.  The  train  of  my  fol- 
lowers was  a  reproduction  of  Falstaff's  army! 
"  Look  out  for  these  people,  they're  an  ornery  lot 
—that's  what  they  are,"  grumbled  the  assistant 
agent  at  the  Round  Valley  Indian  Reservation. 
The  white  hangers-on  of  the  Reservation  were 
grinning  in  a  secret  delight,  as  my  charger  was  led 

forth. 

As  an  Engineer  Officer  and  Aide-de-camp  of  the 
commanding  general  of  the  military  division  of 
the  Pacific,  I  had  been  sent  up  to  Round  Valley 
to  lay  off  an  extensive  reservation  for  the  five  or 
six  thousand  Indians  huddled  into  beautiful  Round 

Valley. 

Thirty  by  fifty  miles  in  its  elliptical  dimensions, 
it  is  well  watered  and  surrounded  with  a  first  and 
second  battlement  of  hills  and  mountains,  sweeping 
away  to  the  east  toward  the  magnificent  peaks  of 
the  Sierras  forming  the  watershed  of  the  Sacra- 
mento River.  t 

Eel  River  adroitly  running  around  it,  with  the 


104  SNOWED    IN 

encircling  mountains,  made  either  route  of  de- 
parture sufficiently  dangerous.  The  trail  from 
Ukiah,  which  I  used  in  entering  the  valley,  was  a 
"  rocky  road  to  Dublin,"  and  my  theodolites, 
levels,  and  engineering  paraphernalia  had  suffered 
from  a  succession  of  mishaps.  I  had  passed  a 
gorge  where  the  remains  of  a  cottage  piano  lay,  a 
thousand  feet  below,  still  strapped  to  the  remains 
of  two  army  mules  who  stubbornly  essayed  to  go 
different  ways,  and  shared  a  common  fate. 

Five  months  among  the  squatters  of  Round 
Valley  had  persuaded  me  of  the  utter  villainy  of 
the  frontier  brutes  encroaching  upon  the  vanishing 
redmen.  I  could  get  no  honest  counsels  from 
any  of  them  ! 

The  army  post  at  Camp  Wright  was  governed 
by  a  few  infantry  officers  who  delighted  in  guying 
a  tenderfoot  staff  officer,  and  my  "  blanket  order  " 
for  supplies  and  assistance  might  as  well  have  been 
"  writ  in  water,"  like  Keat's  epitaph.  When  all 
of  these  people  painted  to  me  the  horrors  of  the 
Cahto  trail,  leading  fifty  miles  northwest,  I  in- 
stantly decided  to  leave  the  valley  by  that  route. 
The  air  was  crisp  and  cold,  the  hunter's  hallo  and 
the  woodman's  ax  rang  thin  and  clear,  and  blankets 
and  hot  toddy  were  at  a  premium. 

My  work  was  all  done.  I  had  laid  off  lines  which 
doubled  the  lands  of  the  hill  tribes,  giving  them 
ample  woodland,  hunting  and  fishing  grounds,  and 
an  area  to  gather  the  sweet  acorns  for  their  meal. 
The  deer  and  bear  of  the  forests,  the  swarming 


SNOWED    IN 


I05 


salmon  and  trout  of  the  river,  the  woodland  run 
for  their  cattle  an  i  mast  bearing  oak  forests  for 
their  pigs,  were  prime  necessities  to  the  Indians. 

As  I  gazed  around  at  the  five  hundred  wick-i- 
ups  with  the  crowding  throngs  of  restless-eyed 
copper-hued  savages,  I  felt  an  honest  pride  in  tak- 
ing leave  of  my  aboriginal  wards.  The  great 
general  who  fought  the  battle  of  Nashville  had 
bidden  me  roll  back  the  lines  of  the  thieving 
squatters  and  leave  to  the  plundered  Indians  room 
enough  on  their  own  land  to  live  in  peace,  in  their 
own  way.  I  had  tried  to  do  my  duty.  I  felt,  as  I 
shook  hands  with  the  Indian  agent  and  the  principal 
chiefs,  that  I  had  done  so.  I  had  taken  a  dozen 
chiefs  of  the  Wyelackies,  Pitt  Rivers,  Diggers, 
Snakes,  and  Modocs,  around  the  lines,  which  I  left 
doubly  blazed  in  the  forests,  and  showed  them  the 
fifty  corner  posts  marking  the  angles  of  their  ter- 
ritory. 

This  policy  of  General  George  H.  Thomas  in 
separating  the  spoiler  and  the  spoiled  was  a  wise 
one,  and  it  kept  peace  for  twenty  years  in  Round 
Valley,  until  disease  and  rum  have  obliterated  the 
tribes  with  whom  I  spent  an  exciting  five  months. 
The  contrary  policy,  later,  brought  on  the  Modoc 
war,  and  Joseph's  war  in  the  lapse  of  a  few  years. 
These  were  wars  as  creditable  to  the  Indians  as 
Thermopylae's  battle  was  to  the  Greeks !  The 
costly  tribute  of  the  blood  of  General  Canby  and 
his  gallant  officers,  the  battle  of  the  Clearwater 
and  the  millions  uselessly  spent  on  the  Modoc  and 


106  SNOWED    IN 

Joseph  campaigns,  were  the  logical  result  of  the 
brutal  encroachments  of  the  whites. 

I  realized  that  I  left  hardly  a  white  friend  in 
Round  Valley  as  I  dispatched  my  train,  with  all  my 
baggage,  engineering  implements,  and  three  days' 
rations.  A  dozen  notable  Indians,  half  of  them 
armed  with  axes,  two  or  three  mule-drivers,  and 
"  Tuttle,"  the  head  Reservation  packer,  were  my 
attendants. 

"  Are  you  armed  ?  "  said  the  retired  army  Cap- 
tain, who  was  the  local  Indian  agent.  I  smiled  and 
pointed  to  Tuttle's  revolver,  as  that  bronze-faced 
youth  sat  gracefully  upright  on  a  wild  broncho, 
then  trying  to  scatter  him  over  an  acre  of  ground. 
"  You  need  an  escort !  "  sternly  said  the  Captain, 
as  he  sent  a  man  galloping  on  in  advance  to  Camp 
Wright. 

The  last  good-by  was  said,  and  I  lightly  vaulted 
upon  my  horse.  At  twenty-three,  I  considered 
myself  a  rough  rider,  and  my  departure  from  the 
Round  Valley  Indian  Reservation  taxed  all  the 
powers  of  a  blended  Californian  and  West  Point 
riding  experience.  We  were  a  half-mile  away 
from  the  Reservation  when  the  thin-breasted,  wall- 
eyed, sorrel  demon,  from  sheer  exhaustion,  allowed 
Tuttle  to  rein  up  near  me.  The  frontier  youth 
had  lost  his  hat  in  the  race ;  his  gay-colored 
neckerchief  shone  saucily  out  over  his  blue  riding 
jerkin,  and  he  laughed  heartily  as  he  said  :  "  Lieu- 
tenant !  That's  the  Hoopa  mare  that  they  have  sent 
over  for  you  !     The  meanest  piece  of  horseflesh 


SNOWED    IN 


I07 


that  I  ever  mounted,  and  I've  been  a  vaqucro  since 
boyhood.  They  always  send  a  new  officer  some- 
thing calculated  to  break  his  neck !  " 

I  grimly  appreciated  the  little  brotherly  joke 
and  determined  to  ride  that  Hoopa  mare  around 
the  line  of  officers'  quarters  as  I  left  the  fort,  after 
'saying  officially  farewell,  so  as  to  show  the  ladies 
of  Camp  Wright  that  I  appreciated  the  joke. 

At  the  cross  roads,  half  way  to  Camp  Wright, 
several  loaferly  hangers-on  at  the  one  valley  store 
cheered  me  with  merry  predictions.  While  one 
said,  "  Lootenant,  the  river  is  up  !  You'll  have  to 
swim  the  Cahto  crossing.  The  mail-rider  was 
drowned  there  three  days  ago  !  " — another,  gazing 
at  the  mackerel  sky,  lazily  drawled,  "  You'll  get 
snow  enough  on  the  big  divide  !  Chances  are, 
you'll  not  make  the  trip  !  "  I  gladly  rode  away 
after  Tuttle  had  bought  his  tobacco  and  a  few 
knick  knacks,  and  I  noticed  that  he  rode  close 
behind  me,  until  we  were  well  out  of  rifle  shot. 
We  had  passed  and  repassed  our  train  once  or 
twice.  I  groaned  as  I  saw  the  cherished  prop- 
erty of  the  Corps  of  Engineers  gyrating  around 
in  that  graceful  figure  known  as  the  "  Blazing 
Star,"  but,  my  work  was  done,  the  sketch,  map, 
and  the  survey  notes,  later  approved  by  the  Presi- 
dent of  the  United  States,  were  in  my  bosom,  and 
so,  I  rode  happily  along  with  both  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  Hoopa  mare's  ears.  I  delighted  in 
giving  that  fiend  all  the  riding  she  needed 
before  we  reached  the  beautiful  post    of   Camp 


Io8  SNOWED    IN 

Wright,  a  memorial  to  General  Tom  Jordan, 
who  reluctantly  left  the  hunter's  paradise  he  had 
built,  to  flourish  as  Chief  of  Staff  to  Beauregard, 
at  Bull  Run. 

"Ye're  goin'  to  get  some  soldiers  here,  are  ye 
not  ?  "  thoughtfully  said  Tuttle,  as  we  neared  the 
camp. 

"  I  believe  so !"  I  carelessly  replied. 

"  Wall !  I  hope  ye  will,  Lootenant !  "  shyly  said 
young  Tuttle.  "  I  ain't  afeard  of  no  man,  but 
them  scrubs  back  there,  allowed  as  some  of  them 
might  follow  you,  and  put  a  ball  through  you  for 
what  ye've  done  for  the  Injuns.  Ye're  mighty  on- 
popular  here.  Ef  I  only  had  my  Winchester,"  he 
said,  with  a  vain  regret.  There  was  no  mistaking 
his  sincerity ! 

I  recalled,  with  indignation,  a  base  attempt  to 
bully  me,  by  underhand  suggestion,  on  my  begin- 
ning my  work.  I  had  mapped  all  the  pretended 
claims,  and  at  one  of  my  camps  a  committee  of 
three  were  ushered  out  at  the  muzzle  of  a  heavy 
rifle  for  certain  insulting  proposals.  I  knew  that 
stages  had  been  robbed  on  the  trail,  an  army  pay- 
master trapped  and  left  for  dead,  and,  when  I  found 
four  infantrymen  equipped  with  their  heavy 
Springfields  and  a  double  allowance  of  ammuni- 
tion, I  understood  the  agent's  foresight.  It  was 
only  on  my  return  to  San  Francisco,  three  hun- 
dred miles  away,  that  I  learned  of  a  secret  plan  to 
murder  me  and  destroy  my  survey  notes.  Even 
that  desperate  move  would  only  have  postponed 


SNOWED    IN  109 

the  dispossessing  of  the  valley  squatter  rogues  for 
some  years. 

An  extra  mule,  with  the  rations  for  the  four  men 
for  a  week,  was  added  to  my  train,  and,  after  a 
delay  of  an  hour,  my  little  command  was  hidden 
from  sight  in  the  rolling  hills  to  the  west  of  the 
fort!  Short  ceremony  I  made  of  the  adieux,  as 
between  the  lurking  murderers  and  the  courtesy 
of  the  Hoopa  mare,  I  left  nothing  behind  me  to 
increase  "  the  sweet  sorrow  of  parting ! "  A 
friendly  lieutenant  of  infantry  had  handed  me  his 
belt  and  army  six-shooter,  without  a  word  of  ex- 
planation. "  You  can  send  it  back  by  Corporal 
Yeackle!"  he  remarked,  and,  I  understood  the 
significant  pressure  of  his  hand !  The  one  in  dan- 
ger is  always  left  to  stumble  along  and  find  out 
the  terrors  of  the  road  for  himself! 

On  our  western  pathway  of  fifty  miles  were 
several  old  abandoned  cabins ;  there  was  a  mail 
station  at  Eel  River  with  a  rope  ferry  practicable 
when  the  river  was  not  raging,  and  one  steep  range 
of  high  hills,  backed  by  lofty  mountains  on  either 
side  of  Eel  River,  lay  between  me  and  Cahto, 
where,  by  stage,  I  could  descend  the  beautiful  coast 
valleys,  and  reach  headquarters  at  San  Francisco 
from  Petaluma. 

The  Indians  trotted  along  silently  by  the  train, 
the  woods  rang  with  the  staccato  remarks  of  m y 
mule  packers,  the  four  soldiers  dragged  along 
with  the  ambitionless  stride  of  men  who  serve 
others  in  a  perfunctory  way,  and,  as  the  Hoopa 


HO  SNOWED    IN 

mare  postponed  her  deviltry  until  she  had  regained 
some  strength,  the  simple  frontiersman,  Tuttle, 
entertained  me  with  crisp  tales  of  border  feuds, 
family  vendettas  and  Indian  killing,  both  amateur 
and  professional.  The  sun  sloped  to  the  west  in 
the  magnificent  forests,  the  night-breeze  swept 
down  from  the  purple  hills,  and  far  to  the  north, 
gorgeous  rose  and  gold  and  crimson  colors  played 
upon  the  majestic  snowy  summits  of  the  pathless 
Sierras. 

Magnificent  pines  surrounded  us,  with  gnarled 
firs,  great  full  bosomed  oaks,  splendid  red  gleam- 
ing madronas,  and  acorn  berry  and  wild  plum 
were  tempting  the  deer  and  bear.  Great  flights 
of  quail,  bevies  of  grouse,  and  chattering  squirrels 
were  aroused  by  our  march. 

It  was  sundown  when  Tuttle  galloped  ahead  to 
a  deserted  cabin  hard  by  a  gurgling  spring.  The 
whole  tired  cavalcade  drew  up  around  the  welcome 
shelter.  There  were  several  pretty  oak  openings 
near  us,  andTuttle's  foot  was  hardly  on  the  ground 
before  "  Captain  Jim,"  the  Wylackie  chief,  pointed 
to  a  superb  buck,  eyeing  us,  not  three  hundred 
yards  away.  Seizing  the  Corporal's  rifle,  Tuttle 
sped  away  to  get  a  broadside  view.  The  ringing 
crack  of  his  rifle  called  the  Indians,  and,  ten 
minutes  later,  the  buck  was  hanging  from  the  poles 
of  the  thatched  porch  ! 

It  was  an  ideal  camp  that  night!  The  ruddy 
fire,  the  good  cheer,  fresh  venison,  army  pork  and 
tinned  potatoes,  coffee  ad  libitum,  and  pipe  a  dis- 


SNOWED    IN  III 

cretionput  me  in  a  good  humor.  The  moon  drifted 
over  the  battlements  of  the  Sierras,  and  the  sigh- 
ing voices  of  the  night  recalled  old  days  to  me! 

I  had  made  Tuttle  my  second  in  command.  I 
ordered  the  Corporal  to  stack  the  arms  in  a  little 
shed  °  lean-to,"  where  my  blankets  were  laid  down, 
and  the  poor  soldiers,  before  a  fire  blazing  in  the 
old  fireplace,  squatted  on  the  floor,  played  that 
army  game  of  poker  which  never  ends.  I  have 
seen  soldiers  without  Bibles,  but  I  never  saw  one 
without  "  a  deck  of  cards."  Professional  etiquette 
prevented  me  associating  with  the  fat  German, 
Corporal  Yeackle,  the  long-legged,  saucer-eyed, 
Irish  giant,  "  Mulholland,"  the  mean-faced,  ferret- 
eyed,  renegade-looking  American,  "  Brown,"  and 
soldier  No.  4 — Riley — a  hardened  Irish  soldier  of 
the  type,"  manufactured  to  order,"  for  the  regular 
army. 

Tuttle  was  busied  with  his  muleteers  and  the 
animals,  and  so,  I  passed  an  informal  evening  with 
the  Indians,  who  were  squatted  around  three 
fires  in  front  of  the  cabin  devouring  the  buck  in 
short  order.  "  Captain  Jim,"  "  Bismarck,"  "  Three 
Star,"  "Old  Tom,"  "Horace  Greeley,  "Sweet- 
bread," "Running  Rat,"  and  "Big  Pappoose " 
were  the  fanciful  names  of  several  of  the  gang 
representing  three  tribes,  and  of  the  other  sullen, 
low-browed  red  men,  two  were  destined  to  achieve 
a  military  fame — and — one  to  die  on  the  gal- 
lows for  killing  an  officer.  It  suddenly  occurred 
to  me  that  I  would  have  Tuttle  watch  these  un- 


112  SNOWED    IN 

couth  redmen,  for,  I  fancied  I  saw  a  black  bottle ! 
They  had  no  arms,  but  I  found  that  the  kindly 
Indian  Agent  had  given  them  five  dollars  each  to 
insure  their  fidelity  to  my  comfort  as  far  as  Cahto. 

With  a  word  of  caution  to  Tuttle,  and  a  hint  to 
the  Corporal  about  the  arms,  I  "  laid  my  brows 
upon  the  drifted  leaves  and  dreamed."  I  was 
almost  case-hardened  with  six  years  of  athletics 
and  the  last  five  months  in  these  wild  hills  as  any 
of  the  Indians,  but,  before  morning  I  rolled  over 
and  over  to  avoid  a  penetrating  cold  which  froze 
my  very  marrow.  The  first  streakings  of  dawn 
found  us  all  astir,  and,  to  my  dismay,  there  was 
six  inches  of  snow  on  the  ground,  and  the  long, 
soft,  feathery  flakes  were  dropping  incessantly  and 
as  thick  as  flocks  of  cotton  wool. 

The  breakfast  was  hastened  in  a  gloomy  silence. 
The  Indians  divided  the  remains  of  the  deer's  car- 
cass, and  when  all  the  animals  were  brought  up  and 
packed,  I  saw  Tuttle  gazing  at  me  with  an  air  of 
concern.  "What  is  it,  Lieutenant?"  he  said, 
"Forward?  There  will  be  heavy  snow  on  the 
divide.  There  are  men  who  would  turn  back  at 
once  to  Camp  Wright.  You  might  leave  all  this 
stuff  and  push  on  with  me  and  one  mule.  We 
could  surely  force  our  way  through  to  Cahto." 

"  Tuttle,"  I  said,  gravely,  "  I  must  reach  San 
Francisco.  I  must  finish  this  map,  and  get  the 
President's  proclamation  out  as  soon  as  possible." 

"Well,  if  ye've  drawed  yerbead,  here  goes!  " 

I  feared  to  face  his  honest,  inquiring  eyes.     I 


SNOWED    IN 


".5 


knew  that  he  was  not  sullen,  and  a  braver  man 
never  drew  breath.  We  were  the  last  to  leave  the 
cabin,  and  the  unwilling  animals,  the  slouchy 
soldiers,  the  apathetic  Indians,  all  staggered  up 
trail,  to  where  the  open  rocky  knolls,  the  dim  ra- 
vines, and  precipitous  ascents,  to  the  top  of  the 
Eel  River  divide,  made  our  journey  a  dismal  one. 

The  snow  blew  in  our  faces  and  soon  blinded  us. 
I  managed  to  keep  a  pipe  lighted,  the  trail  became 
slippery,  and  the  snow  deeper  and  deeper.  We 
passed  three  great  black  bears  rolling  over  each 
other  in  the  snow,  and  no  one  had  curiosity 
enough  for  a  shot.  The  forest  was  gloomy,  the 
winds  cut  us  sharply,  and  our  spirits  fell  with  the 
thermometer.  Four  hours  of  floundering  along, 
with  several  of  the  animals  down  at  one  time, 
at  last,  exhausted  the  energies  of  the  whole  com- 
mand. It  was  not  four  o'clock  when  we  entered 
a  canyon  by  a  creek  leading  to  the  last  incline  of 
the  Eel  River  divide.  A  great  oak  forest  showed 
the  girdled  trees  of  the  tan-bark  scalper,  and  a 
cabin  invited  us  to  its  welcome  shelter.  It  was 
strongly  built  and  seemed  to  be  a  sort,  of  Hospice 
de  Saint  Bernard  station,  though  untenanted. 
There  was  a  little  room  with  a  rude  bunk,  and 
some  scattered  straw  and  leaves.  When  the 
property  was  all  under  cover,  the  animals  fed  with 
grain  and  sheltered,  and  fire  and  food  had  relieved 
us,  I  watched  Tuttle,  silent  and  dispirited,  seated 
before  the  fire  drying  his  neckerchief. 

I  began  to  realize  my  mistake,  and  I  ruefully 


114  SNOWED    IN 


watched  the  falling  snow,  now  eighteen  inches 
deep.  The  Indians  were  huddled  on  one  side  of 
the  open  cabin,  my  soldiers  on  the  other,  and  the 
arms  were  stowed  away  in  my  little  den.  Only 
Tuttle  and  I  had  revolvers.  The  young  frontiers- 
man understood  the  silent  question  of  my  eyes ! 

"  It's  a  mighty  hard  game  cut  out  for  us  here. 
I  tell  you  what,  Lieutenant,  I've  got  to  ride  back 
to  the  reservation  to-night.  I  can  make  it  by  ten 
o'clock.  Your  animals  are  plumb  beat  out.  The 
grain  will  gone  to-morrow.  The  food  next  day  ! 
I'll  take  a  letter  to  the  agent.  He  can  send  a 
dozen  men  up,  each  with  two  animals.  You've 
got  to  stop  here.  I'll  bring  you  grub  and  grain. 
Then  we  will  pick  out  the  best  mules,  and  take  a 
half  dozen  goo.d  men.  We  can  force  you  over  to 
Eel  River,  once  across,  you  can  get  to  Cahto,  and 
your  stuff  must  stay  here  till  spring — and  then  the 
quartermaster  send  it  down.  This  trail  will  be 
closed  in  a  week,  for  the  whole  winter." 

A  half  hour's  argument  could  not  change  his 
resolution.  "  I'm  bound  to  see  you  through  !  "  he 
cried,  "  and,  I'll  be  back  here  the  second  day  and 
push  you  on."  In  ten  minutes,  my  two  official 
appeals  were  penciled  off,  and  I  grasped  the 
brave  fellow's  hand  with  gratitude,  as  he  faced 
the  blinding  snowstorm,  and  sped  away  alone, 
down  the  trail.  He  had  all  my  cigars  and  a  trusty 
leather  jacket,  the  companion  of  many  a  hunting 
foray. 

Feeling  the  need  of  discipline,  I  called  the  four 


SNOWED    IN 


"5 


soldiers  aside,  and,  instructing   the   Corporal  in 

their  presence,  I  gave  them  the  m  id  ord 

about  the  animals,  and  the  treatment  of  the  In- 
dians, as  well  as  the  care  of  our  slender  stock  of 
food.  My  evening  toilet  was  made,  when  my 
boots  were  drawn  off,  and  I  slept  the  sleep  of  - 
haustion  and  disgust.  I  was  baffled  at  every  turn, 
and  caught  on  the  hither  side  of  Eel  River,  in  per- 
haps the  closing  storm  of  the  year! 

It  seemed  to  me  that  I  could  hear  in  my  uneasy 
dreams,  the  clatter  of  tin  cups,  the  rattle  of  money, 
and  the  sound  of  dispute,  but  I  awoke  late  to  find 
the  snow  nearly  three  feet  thick,  and  the  storm 
still  continuing  though  the  wind  had  gone  down. 
I  breakfasted,  through  the  attentions  of  Corporal 
Yeackle,  and  set  myself  about  inspecting  the  ani- 
mals, seeing  them  fed  with  the  last  of  the  grain, 
and  sheltered  as  far  as  we  could  devise  means. 
The  store  of  provisions  was  carefully  examined 
Two  days  at  most,  would  be  the  spinning  out  of 
the  slender  store.  I  laid  out  every  possible  occu- 
pation for  my  time,  and  at  last,  as  the  long  after- 
noon was  closing,  I  was  reduced  to  poring  over  a 
battered  copy  of  Shakespeare,  the  "  stand-by  "  of 
years  of  travel.  I  was  obliged  to  decline  Captain 
Jim's  application  for  the  loan  of  one  of  the  soldier's 
guns.  u  Plenty  deer  stand  around  in  snow,  now,'' 
he  said,  "  Got  him  foot  wet."  I  diplomatically 
answered  "  To-morrow  !  "  I  knew  that  Tuttle 
would  be  back  with  me,  or  at  least  near,  for  a  sin- 
gular  lack   of  cordiality  seemed    to  hav  \  n 


Il6  SNOWED    IN 

up    between   my   body  guard  and  the   Indians! 

I  carefully  inspected  my  camp,  verified  the 
safety  of  the  rations  and  the  presence  in  my  room 
of  all  the  weapons,  and  lay  down  to  sleep  that 
night  after  the  longest  day  of  my  life.  White  and 
gray,  cold  and  cheerless,  the  external  scene  was 
made  more  gloomy  by  night's  black  shadows. 

The  two  groups  of  my  followers  were  playing 
cards  by  the  firelight  when  I  gave  the  Corporal 
his  last  orders.  We  had  heaped  up  all  the  dry 
wood  near  for  fuel,  and  I  feared  an  accidental  fire, 
which  might  cost  all  our  lives.  One  of  the  soldiers 
was  stationed  on  guard,  but,  unarmed,  with  orders 
to  arouse  a  mate,  every  two  hours  for  relief. 

In  the  midnight  hours,  I  was  aware  that  the 
two  groups  were  still  playing  cards,  an  amuse- 
ment at  which  the  Indians  are  the  equal  of  any 
Mississippi  River  gambler.  I  did  not  care  to  for- 
bid the  apparently  harmless  game,  as  the  men 
were  without  comfort  and  had  a  hard  siege  before 
them.  Suddenly,  the  heavy  bang  of  a  Spring- 
field rifle  brought  me  to  my  feet,  with  my  re- 
volver in  hand ! 

As  I  sprang  out  of  the  little  side  room,  I  could 
see  the  Corporal  and  the  two  Irishmen  strug- 
gling with  Private  Brown,  who  still  clung  to  a 
rifle,  from  whose  muzzle,  the  smoke  was  pouring. 
There  was  not  an  Indian  in  the  room!  The  three 
muleteers  had  crawled  out  of  their  corner. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  all  this !  "  I  cried,  as 
clapping  my  revolver   to  Brown's  head,  I    bade 


SNUWED    IN 


"7 


him  give  up  the  gun.  "  It  was  all  an  accident," 
the  man  grumbled,  and  looking  him  squarely  in 
the  face,  I  saw  that  he  was  undeniably  drunk  ! 
Then,  I  ordered  the  Corporal  and  the  other  two 
soldiers  to  tie  up  the  man,  which  they  did  most  un- 
willingly. I  could  see  that  there  was  something 
hidden  from  me,  but,  in  ten  minutes  all  was  quiek  <  1 . 
Taking  the  best  of  the  muleteers,  I  gave  him 
the  rifle,  and  searching  the  four  soldiers  for  car- 
tridges, gave  the  civilian  orders  to  shoot  any  one 
trying  to  touch  the  arms  or  ammunition.  And 
then,  I  sent  the  other  two  mule-drivers  out  to  find 
and  placate  the  frightened  Indians.  They  trudged 
about  in  the  storm  for  ten  minutes,  and  I  saw  dis- 
aster in  their  eyes  as  they  returned  covered  with 
snow.  "  The  Indians  have  cut  the  lariats  of  all  the 
animals  and  cleared  out  upon  them,  riding  bare- 
back." I  needed  no  further  blow  to  dampen  my 
spirits.     The  worst  had  befallen ! 

Alternating  with  the  three  mule-drivers,  I 
guarded  the  arms  and  rations  until  daylight,  keep- 
ing the  four  soldiers  under  close  arrest.  The 
truth  leaked  out  before  my  morning  coffee  had 
restored  my  good  humor.  An  all-round  game  of 
poker  in  which  the  Indians  produced  the  secreted 
liquor,  bought  at  the  cross-roads,  led  to  a  quarrel 
of  sudden  violence.  Brown,  emboldened  by 
drink,  detected  in  cheating,  snatched  up  the  stakes, 
and,  springing  to  a  corner,  fired  the  gun  of  the 
guard  point  blank  at  the  Indians  in  his  drunken 
recklessness.  And,  the  poor  fellows  had  cleared 
out,  in  terror ! 


Il8  SNOWED    IN 

None  of  the  soldiers  would  tell  on  their  mates, 
and  I  transferred  my  affections  to  the  mule-driv- 
ers, now  by  no  means  glad  of  the  unfaithful  escort. 

The  long  day  crawled  away,  and,  no  Tuttle  ! 
No  sound  of  relief,  no  help.  One  bright  ray  of 
hope  illumined  my  winter  skies.  It  had  stopped 
snowing.  We  four  men  (in  good  repute)  guarded 
the  sullen  soldiers,  and  the  evening  after  the  flight 
of  the  Indians  passed  most  gloomily.  We  all  knew 
they  would  take  their  own  side  trails  back  to  the 
Reservation,  where  all  the  animals  belonged,  save 
the  Hoopa  mare,  which  they  had  scorned  to 
steal.  She  was  a  bright  star  of  the  War  Depart- 
ment. Nothing  was  left  of  "  Mr.  Lo,"  save  the 
scattered  bones  of  the  deer  and  a  few  fragments 
of  the  carcass  lying  around  their  fires  in  front  of 
the  open  door  of  the  cabin. 

I  was  sleeping  at  three  o'clock,  and  dreaming 
of  Tuttle's  relief  train  when  a  hand  on  my  arm 
wakened  me.  It  was  the  muleteer  on  guard, 
"Big  Andy." 

"  See  here,  Lieutenant/'  he  whispered,  "  there's 
a  thundering  big  grizzly,  hanging  around  the 
door.  He  has  found  the  remains  of  the  deer !  "  In 
grim  silence,  we  loaded  the  four  heavy  Springfield 
rifles,  and  the  Corporal  grasped  a  burning  brand 
from  the  fire.  I  gave  him  my  revolver,  and  with 
orders  for  only  two  to  fire  at  a  time,  we  crawled  to 
the  door.  The  three  mule-drivers  and  myself 
were  the  gunners,  and  the  men  stood  ready  to  hand 
us  cartridges. 


SN< ' .'.  i  u   i.\  i  in 

When  the  burning  brand  was  whirled,  the  great 

marauder  ran  away  twenty  yards  and  stopped, 
growling  and  digging  up  the  snow!  "Now,"  I 
cried,  "  Give  it  to  him!"  Two  one-ounce  balls 
tore  through  him,  and,  as  he  turned,  with  a  roar, 
he  met  a  second  discharge  ! 

In  the  excitement,  we  fired  alternately  till  a  dozen 
balls  had  laid  him  out.  But,  no  one  ventui 
near  him,  till  daylight  brought  us  Tuttle  and  a 
dozen  selected  men.  The  sun  was  shining  brightly 
when  he  rode  up.  I  selected  four  men  and  eight 
horses.  Before  noon,  Tuttle  and  I  had  crossed  the 
Eel  River  divide  and  the  soldiers  were  trudging 
homeward.  To  our  inexpressible  delight,  after 
a  descent  of  fifteen  miles,  the  scow-boat  ferry  was 
found  to  be  in  running  order.  Even  my  precious 
instruments  were  landed  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Eel  River  without  damage,  and,  leaving  two  men 
to  come  on  with  them,  after  a  night  spent  in  the 
ferry  hut,  the  young  frontiersman  selected  for  me 
the  best  horse,  and  mounted  the  next  best  himself. 
Well  provided  with  supplies  in  our  saddle  pouches, 
we  rode  along  through  the  darkling  forest,  as  one 
who  fears  the  avenger  of  blood  !  The  great  storm 
had  whirled  around,  and  the  two  days  of  sunshine 
gave  us  the  time  needed  to  reach  the  hamlet  of 
Cahto.  All  unmindful  of  past  fatigue,  I  crawled 
into  the  body  of  a  Concord  coach,  about  to  st?-' 
in  half  an  hour.  My  precious  trust  was  safe  :  I 
could  rest  further  on.  "  The  soldiers  and  tin-  In 
dians?"  said  Tuttle,  "Let  than  settle  it  among tk 


120  SNOWED    IN 

selves !  "  I  gayly  cried,  as  I  left  the  loyal  fellow 
there  on  guard,  with  my  gold  watch  in  his  hand 
as  a  parting  gift.  I  received  from  Tuttle  the  bear 
skin  tanned  nicely,  six  months  later,  as  a  memorial 
of  being  "  Snowed  In." 


WITH  THE  CARIBS  OFF 
RUATAN  ISLAND 

BY 

RICHARD  HENRY  SAVAGE 


THE    RETURN    TO    TRUXILLO 


WITH      THE       CARIBS      OFF 
RUATAN    ISLAND. 


There  are  moments  in  life   when  the  burden 
of  existence  becomes  unbearable.     I  appreciated 
this  fact  on  the  fifth  of  June,  eighteen  hundred 
and  ninety,  when  I  rode   into  Truxillo,  Spanish 
Honduras,  on  the  seventeenth  day  of  lonely  travel 
returning  from  a  bootless  quest  for  gold  and  the 
gloomy  gorges  of  the  Mangalile  River. 
'  I  had  looked  forward,  with  a  secret  triumph,  to 
hastening  along  the  sea-beach  after  emerging  from 
the  last  horrible  canyon,  and  buying  my  steamer 
ticket  for  New  Orleans,  Mobile,  or  Baltimore.     1 
knew  that  I  had  thrown  away  six  months,  several 
thousands  of  dollars,  and  my  health,  in  a  fruit  1 
chase  for  fool's  gold.  Of  the  valuable  outfit,  nothing 
remained  but  a  superb  double  gun,  a  Lone  Star 
frontier  revolver,  a  few  cartridges,  and,  a  very  few 
available     dollars.       Besides,     the    thieves     and 
jaguars— more  deadly  than  the /Vr  de  lance  or  the 
machetes  of  the  "  ladrones  "—there   was  a  grim 
enemy  now  stalking  abroad   upon  the  steaming 
plains    of    Yoro,    the    arid    logwood    wastes    of 
Olancho,  and  the  beautiful  impenetrable  jungles  <  »t 


124  WITH    THE    CARIBS   OFF    RUATAN    ISLAND 

the  Colon  morasses  of  the  Aguan.  It  was  the 
dreaded  Yellow  Jack ! 

I  was  busied  with  watching  two  scoundrels 
plotting  my  death,  but,  I  could  not  ignore  the  fact 
on  awaking,  after  a  night  spent  in  a  hut  at  Jocon, 
that  five  out  of  nine  women  huddled  around  the 
little  hacienda  had  died  in  the  night  of  yellow 
fever. 

There  was  but  one  precaution  for  me :  to  boil 
all  the  water  I  drank  on  the  march,  and,  to  follow 
up  taking  the  quinine,  of  which  I  had  used  five 
ounces  in  four  months. 

No  happier  man  ever  rode  across  the  plaza 
d'armas  of  Truxillo  than  the  writer,  as  he  swung 
himself  down  from  the  little  mule  which  had 
brought  him  over  seven  ranges  of  mountains,  three 
hundred  miles  out  of  the  wilderness.  The  clang 
of  the  cracked  bells  in  the  old  Catholic  church, 
the  passing  of  several  squads  of  brown-skinned 
men  and  black-draped  women  following  rude  biers, 
told  me  that  Yellow  Jack  had  resumed  his  saffron 
crown  of  death  !  Mine  host,  Juan  Crespo,  gazed 
blankly  at  a  six-footer,  who  weighed  one  hundred 
and  thirty  pounds  instead  of  his  normal  two  hun- 
dred and  nine.  My  hair  waved  freely  above  the 
crownless  felt  hat,  a  pair  of  old  boot-tops  protected 
my  legs,  and  a  long  Russian  towel,  hung  diagonally 
like  an  army  blanket,  was  swung  around  my  neck  as 
an  aid  in  crushing  the  hundred-winged  and  thou- 
sand-legged insects.  The  revolver  belt  was  per- 
haps my  identification,  for,  no  Honduranean  was 


WITH    THE    CAR1BS    OFF    RUATAN    ISLAND  I  25 

burned  a  redder  brown  than  the  New  Yorker  who 
had  faced  one  hundred  and  ten  in  the  sun  for 
months. 

When  Crespo,  the  Boniface,  at  last  recognized 
his  whilom  guest,  the  Americanized  Cuban 
laughed.  "You  know  what  the  Mangalile  trail  is 
now,  mi  amtgo"  I  tossed  my  belt  and  six-shooter, 
in  a  corner,  delivered  over  my  mule  to  his  keeper, 
and  hastened  away  across  the  square  to  the  office 
of  the  New  Orleans  steamers.  There  were  three 
fruit  steamers  swinging  idly  at  their  buoys  on  the 
crystal  blue  flood  of  Truxillo  Bay,  where  far  be- 
low the  sponges,  coral,  and  the  flower  garden  of 
the  sea  could  be  descried  fifty  fathoms  deep. 

I  had  a  treasured  store  of  a  hundred  or  more 
Central  American  silver  dollars,  and,  when  I 
dashed  into  the  Oteri  steamship  office,  the  lazy 
clerk  puffed  his  cigarito,  pushed  back  my  bag  of 
dollars,  and,  silently  pointed  to  an  official  adver- 
tisement. My  heart  froze  within  me  as  I  read  the 
ominous  lines. 


No  passenger  tickets  to  the  United  States  of 
America  sold  until  November  1,  1890. 

Yellow  fever  quarantine  exists  at  all  American 
ports.  S.  Oteri  &  Co.,  June  1,  1890. 


When  I  demanded  of  the  clerk  what  steps  I 
should  take  to  get  out  of  the  country,  he  grinned. 
"Pues,  sefwr,  quien  sabe  !  You  might  get  over  to 
Belize,  but,  they  are  dying  like  sheep  over  there. 


126  WITH    THE    CARIBS    OFF    RUATAN    ISLAND 

and  you  would  be  tied  up  there  till  November  first. 
Better  stay  here  in  Truxillo."  I  grasped  my  sack 
of  dollars,  and,  after  visiting  the  offices  of  the 
Mobile  and  Baltimore  steamers,  as  well  as  the 
opposition  "  Menchaca  "  line,  I  gave  up  my  quest 
in  despair.  I  had  offered  a  certified  draft  for  five 
hundred  dollars,  a  two  hundred  dollar  gold 
watch,  and  my  sixty -pound  sterling  London  gun  for 
a  forty-dollar  passage  to  Mobile.  In  desperation,  I 
even  offered  to  be  mustered  with  the  ship's  crew, 
so  as  to  leave  the  flaming  fiery  fever  furnace.  But 
all  in  vain!  The  keen-eyed  Honduranean  officials 
were  out  for  "  backsheesh,"  and  the  placing  of  one 
unauthorized  person  on  the  ship's  papers  would 
have  forfeited  both  steamer  and  cargo.  The 
American  Boards  of  Health  personally  mustered 
the  ship's  people,  and,  even  the  dead,  were  care- 
fully accounted  for.  This  was  a  delightful  phase 
of  Honduranean  life,  and,  late  that  night,  I  re- 
volved every  plan  of  escape  with  Juan  Crespo. 

I  knew  that  I  never  would  live  to  make  the  four 
weeks  overland  trip  to  Amapala  on  the  Pacific, 
but,  from  Mangalile,  in  the  Campamento  moun- 
tains, I  could  have  easily  escaped  to  the  West, 
had  I  known  of  the  blockade.  It  was  impossible 
to  reach  either  Colon  or  Nicaragua,  and  the  cheer- 
ful intelligence  that  the  British  Governor  of 
Belize,  his  bride,  secretary  and  leading  officer, 
were  all  dead  within  a  week,  summarily  disposed 
of  the  Belize  plan ! 

I  wandered  around  the  decayed  old  town  for 


WITH    THE   C  A  RIBS   OFF    RUATAN    ISLAND 

several  days  in  a  stupor.     I  was  just  five  'lavs  too 
late  to  leave  the  land  of  plantains  and  picaron 
My  wife  was  contemplating  a  return  from  Europe, 

and  important  affairs  claimed  me  in  New  York- 
city.  The  mysterious  hidden  gold-mine  bubble 
had  bursted,  and,  with  a  shudder,  1  recalled  the 
horror-haunted  tropical  forest  which  I  had  lived 
in  for  six  weeks.  One  especially  devilish  race  of 
birds  seemed  to  enjoy  lingering  in  the  foliage  till 
aroused  by  the  mule's  feet,  and,  then,  with  an  un- 
earthly scream,  to  glide  out,  brushing  one's  face 
with  unclean  wings. 

I  had  heard  the  Apache  yell  and  the  war-cry  of 
the  Sioux,  but,  nothing  ever  shook  my  nerve  as 
much  as  this  devil  bird!  The  morning  and  even- 
ing clatter  of  the  jungle  had  worn  my  patience  to 
a  thread,  and,  in  the  graceful  forest  vistas  where 
the  Espiritu  Santo  flower  bloomed,  where  every 
wealth  of  orchid  and  the  gorgeous  colored  flowers 
of  kings  tempted  the  eye,  there  was  only  disease, 
miasma,  lurking  death  from  venomous  reptiles, 
the  hungry  tigers,  and  the  low-browed  assassin. 

Only  the  telegraph  was  open  lor  communication, 
for  the  steamers  were  to  be  withdrawn  and  the 
poor  consolation  of  letters  was  denied  inc.  It 
roused  every  drop  of  my  blood  to  throbbing  en- 
ergy when  I  saw  two  men  of  note  die  on  the  side- 
walk, having  been  thrust  out  by  the  terrified  in- 
mates of  a  cheap  posada. 

Finding  one  poor,  dejected  American  in  the  five 
thousand  dwellers  under  Congrehoy  Peak.  I    fur- 


128  WITH    THE    CARIBS   OFF    RUATAN    ISLAND 

tively  conferred  with  him.  He  was  a  forlorn  hope, 
watching  a  quarter  of  a  million  dollars'  worth  of 
steamboats  and  dredges  thrown  away  in  a  vague, 
feeble  attempt  to  open  the  mighty  Aguan's  navi- 
gation for  two  hundred  miles. 

"  There  is  but  one  chance,  Colonel,"  said  the 
sad-eyed  waif  of  fortune.  "  The  American  Consul 
comes  over  from  Ruatan  Island,  with  his  sloop 
now  and  then.  There  is  Utilla,  Bonaca,  and  Rua- 
tan, the  Bay  Islands.  They  are  sea-swept  and 
healthy,  and,  you  may  get  to  Cuba  or  Jamaica  from 
Ruatan.  Keep  your  own  counsel!  If  Consul 
Burchard  comes,  just  plant  yourself  aboard,  and, 
it  may  save  your  life."  It  was  good  advice,  and  I 
haunted  the  old  barbican  of  the  Spanish  fort.  I 
gazed  out  on  the  glassy  blue,  beyond  Hog  Island, 
for  the  one  white  sail.  The  splendid  old  council 
hall  of  the  Conquistadores,  Carib  town,  the 
prisons,  fort,  and  cuartels,  I  duly  examined,  and 
gave  no  sign  of  my  attempted  evasion. 

Whether  death  scorned  me,  or  I  was  quinine 
poisoned,  I  cannot  say,  but  I  was  awakened  one 
morning  by  my  American  friend  to  say  that  the 
Ruatan  sloop  was  in.  Half  an  hour  later,  I  saw 
my  trunk  thrown  on  the  deck  of  the  ten-ton  sloop 
and  I  sprang  aboard  the  Dart  as  boldly  as  a  board- 
ing pirate.  A  few  letters  of  hitherto  useless 
recommendation  "  squared  me  "  with  the  some- 
what disgruntled  Consul,  and,  two  days  later,  I 
landed  at  Coxen's  Hole  Harbor,  in  the  fairy  Rua- 
tan Island.     Ten  beef  cattle  in  the  hold,  a  dozen 


WITH    THE    CAR1BS   OFF    RUATAN    [SLA] 

half-breed  women  and  children,  and  the  Con  ill's 
family  relegated  me  to  sleeping  on    deck,  firmly 

lashed  to  the  rigging,  as  we  were  becalmed  a 
whole  day  on  a  sea  which  roasted  us  like  a  burn- 
ing glass. 

Jerked  beef  roasted  to  a  crisp,  baked  plantains, 
and  mud  coffee  were  the  creature  comforts  of  the 
Dart,  but,  I  could  not  criticise  my  fare  as  the  paci- 
fied Consul  scorned  any  remuneration  for  the  fifty- 
mile  trip. 

My  heart  leaped  up  at  seeing  the  beautiful,  neat 
villages  of  the  three  islands  settled  by  Lord  St. 
Vincent's  Scotch  colonists  a  hundred  years  ago. 
Daring  boatmen,  splendid  wroodsmen,  these  half- 
breed  covenanters,  speaking  Spanish  with  a 
Scotch  burr,  cling  to  the  kirk  and  school-house, 
and  have  the  only  prosperous  Christian  homes  that 
I  have  ever  seen  in  the  American  tropics.  Thrift 
and  success  seem  to  follow  these  Castilian  "  Saw- 
neys"; their  fruit  plantations  are  models;  their 
white  cottages,  with  cool,  green  blinds  are  palatial, 
compared  with  the  Honduranean  adobes. 

And,  the  men  and  women  seem  to  be  able  to 
keep  clothes  upon  their  sturdy  forms,  an  impossi- 
ble luxury  for  the  slouchy  Dons  and  Donnas. 

When  the  Dart  glided  into  the  beautiful  old  land- 
locked pirate  harbor  of  Coxen's  Hole,  I  scoured 
the  pretty  village  in  search  of  news  of  a  passing 
schooner.  There  were  passing  trading  brigs,  t»». .. 
knocking  around  the  Windward  Islands.  1  deter- 
mined to  get  out  of  Honduranean  waters,  by  li<><>k 


130  WITH    THE    CARIBS    OFF    RUATAN    ISLAND 

or  crook,  though  the  three  bay  islands  are  really 
under  a  secret  British  protectorate  from  Belize. 

It  was  at  the  cuartel  of  the  Honduranean  Gen- 
eral in  nominal  command,  that  I  learned  an  Ameri- 
can fruit  schooner  was  loading  at  French  Harbor, 
twelve  or  fifteen  miles  away.  Beautiful  Ruatan, 
forty  miles  long  and  ten  miles  broad,  is  a  fairy 
island  of  Monte  Cristo.  Far  up  on  its  purple  peaks 
the  Martello  towers  of  the  old  buccaneers  still 
overlook  the  sapphire  ocean  paradise. 

The  fear  that  the  New  York  bound  schooner 
might  leave  me,  caused  me  to  hunt  instantly  for  the 
first  two  Carib  boatmen,  who,  (for  a  decent  bribe) 
would  take  me  and  my  trunk,  at  once,  along  the 
south  shore  of  Ruatan  to  French  Harbor.  A  few 
cigars,  and  a  couple  of  pounds  of  smoking  tobacco, 
were  my  sole  purchases,  and  the  interpreter  who 
hired  my  two  Caribs,  made  all  clear  to  them. 
They  had  only  a  bunch  of  green  plantains,  a  jar 
of  water,  and  some  papelitos,  as  supplies. 

An  old  cat-boat  about  twenty  feet  long  was  my 
means  of  conveyance,  and  the  glaring  sun  and 
tropical  rain  had  opened  the  decks  and  rotted  half 
the  cordage.  But,  headlong  in  my  hurry,  I  never 
realized  that  I  trusted  myself,  unarmed,  with  two 
men  only  speaking  the  Carib  jargon,  and  who  eyed 
my  golden  watch  and  bag  of  dollars  with  consider- 
able curiosity.  I  had  sold  both  my  pistol  and 
gun,  and,  I  was  both  worn  and  weak ! 

We  glided  along  under  a  freshening  breeze, 
running   out   of  the    almost   land-locked    harbor 


WITH    THE   CARIBS   OFF    RUATAN    ISLAND  131 

where  Lafitte  often  hid  his  vessels,  to  feel  the  full 
sweep  of  a  rising  gale.     The  beautiful  Carribean 
is  famous  for  its  sudden  circular   storms    which 
have  overturned   many  a  stout  gunboat  and  even 
stanch  steamers.     But,  lying   spread   out   in    the 
cockpit,  I  watched  the  alert  Caribs  nursing  their 
corn-shuck  cigarettes,  as  we  rounded  a  point  and 
tore  along,  racing  madly  away  to  French  Harbor. 
The  beautiful  plantations  glided  by, with  their  man- 
go groves  growing  down  into  the  water  and  form- 
ing pretty  still  lagoons  along  the  sculptured  shore. 
Another  hour  would  have  made  us  all  safe,  but 
the  sudden  gale  increased  in  its  fury,  and  I  felt 
my  heart  sink  as  I  saw  the  helmsman  toss  over  a 
double  sheet,  which  was  soon  reeved  on  the  boom 
of  the  mainsail.     The  skies  darkened,  the  storm 
king  showered  down  his  wrath  upon  us,  and  when 
not  busied  with  bailing,  I  was  tightly  holding  on 
to  the  combings  to  prevent   my   weakened   form 
from  being  tossed  bodily  out  of  the  boat! 

The  old  catboat  sullenly  plunged  into  the 
heavy  head  seas,  and  to  my  dismay,  I  saw  that  the 
seams  were  opening.  Two  calabashes  were  soon 
at  work  in  bailing,  while  the  tempest  grew  awful 
in  its  volume.  I  was  drenched  to  the  skin  and 
faint  with  hunger.  My  utmost  faith  in  Carib  fear- 
lessness was  tried  as  we  rounded  the  last  point 
from  whence  we  could  see  French  Harbor,  five 
miles  away.  Alas  !  there  was  no  schooner  visible, 
and,  T  failed  to  understand  the  jargon  ot  my  two 
boatmen. 


132  WITH    THE    CARIBS    OFF    RUATAN    ISLAND 

I  had  determined  to  show  no  fear  "  on  general 
principles,"  but,  1  was  relieved  when  the  anxious 
crew  dropped  the  mainsail  sprit,  making  the  sail 
only  half  its  size,  and  the  one  man  of  all  work 
essayed  later  to  double-reef  it. 

The  rickety  old  boat  was  plunging  madly  along 
when  suddenly  both  the  double  sheets  pulled  out 
of  the  fastenings  and  the  sail  flew  wildly  out,  all 
control  of  the  sail  being  lost.  The  boat  was  half 
full  of  water  as  the  utility  man  cut  the  rotten 
ropes  holding  up  the  mainsail,  and,  down  it  came 
with  a  run!  One  more  wave  shipped,  and  we 
would  all  be  food  for  the  trailing  sharks,  as  we 
wallowed  in  the  trough  of  the  sea. 

But,  my  admiral  Carib  threw  the  tiller  hard  up, 
and  giving  me  my  orders,  sprang  to  aid  his  fel- 
low to  clear  away  the  wreck.  I  clung  to  the  stern 
combings  blinded  with  the  spray,  and  gazed  rue- 
fully around.  The  cat-like  activity  of  the  two 
Caribs  had  astonished  me,  and  I  gazed  in  wonder 
as  the  helmsman  steered  the  boat  directly  for  the 
shore,  eight  hundred  yards  away!  There  were 
frightful  rollers  and  breakers  lashing  the  shores 
now,  and  my  voice  in  protest  rose  above  the  howl- 
ing of  the  storm ! 

But,  the  two  Caribs  only  pointed  to  the  half 
waterlogged  boat,  already  well  down  at  the  head, 
and,  while  one  clung  to  the  repaired  mainsail 
sheets,  the  other's  two  bronzed  arms  held  the  tiller 
with  an  iron  grip. 

I  closed  my  eyes  as  we  rose  on  the  crest  of  a 


WITH    THE    CARIBS    OFF    KUATAN    ISLAM)  133 

gigantic  wave  and  trembled  a  moment,  on  its  curl- 
ing foam,  then  we  shot  into  the  unvexed 
smoothness  of  a  mango  grove  lagoon  !  The  helms- 
man had  taken  the  boat  in  through  an  opening  not 
forty  feet  wide,  and  my  heart's  blood  receded  with 
the  sudden  shock  of  the  neck-or-nothing  dash  ! 

It  was  approaching  sundown,  and  I  ruefully 
gazed  upon  the  green  bunch  of  plantains  and  the 
jar  of  water.  My  zinc-covered  trunk  had  partly 
resisted  the  floods.  I  was  in  a  quandary,  for  the 
storm  outside  of  the  natural  breakwater  of  trees 
was  even  fiercer  in  its  intensity. 

No  means  of  reaching  the  shore  seemed  possible. 
I  was  willing  to  foot  the  four  miles  to  French 
Harbor,  but,  one  of  the  Carib  navigators  dissuaded 
me  from  trying  to  swim  ashore.  He  threw  over 
a  piece  of  cassava  bread,  and  the  serrated  back  of 
a  huge  alligator  rose  up  circling  around  it,  while 
later,  a  yellow-bellied,  basking  shark  made  a  futile 
dash  at  it ! 

My  attempts  at  conversation  were  all  absolute 
failures,  and  I  gnashed  my  teeth  at  the  idea  of  the 
only  New  York  bound  vessel  probably  for  five 
months,  sailing  away  and  leaving  me  an  indignant 
Enoch  Arden,  upon  Ruatan  !  It  was  impossible  to 
get  the  twenty-foot  catboat  near  to  the  shore. 
The  mango  groves  were  dense  and  impossible  of 
passage.  Just  as  the  darkness  closed  down,  a 
lantern's  twinkle  gleamed  out  on  the  road  along 
the  shore.  I  hailed  in  English  and  Spanish,  and 
to  my  inexpressible  joy  was  answered  by  a  boy 
speaking  very  good  English. 


134  WITH    THE    CARIBS    OFF    RUATAN    ISLAND 

In  ten  minutes,  I  had  explained  our  predicament, 
and,  with  the  promise  of  a  handsome  reward,  in- 
duced him  to  go  to  the  nearest  house  and  bring 
out  a  Carib  dugout  through  a  little  channel  cut 
for  the  parties  of  fishermen  operating  in  the  la- 
goon. 

I  never  knew  the  magic  power  of  money  before ! 
A  frantic  joy  reigned  in  my  bosom  when  I  reached 
the  strand,  and  before  a  wagon  was  procured,  the 
Carib  admiral  had  paddled  my  trunk  ashore,  a 
marvel  of  balancing,  in  the  ten-foot  canoe.  The 
New  York  schooner  was  still  at  French  Harbor, 
and,  as  I  rolled  along  the  road,  I  realized  the 
kindly  efforts  of  my  Caribs  to  tell  me  that  she  had 
been  warped  into  the  beautiful  circular  pool  where 
the  bloodthirsty  Lolonois  once  hid  away  his  free- 
booters. 

The  wild  storm  which  had  so  nearly  wrecked 
"  Caesar  and  all  his  fortunes,"  had  made  it  impos- 
sible for  the  beautiful  yacht-built  fruit  schooner, 
Margaretta  L.  Smith,  of  Kennebunk,  Maine,  to 
work  out  and  gain  an  offing.  Her  cargo  of 
200,000  cocoanuts,  10,000  pineapples,  and  8,000 
bunches  of  bananas  was  all  on  board. 

I  had  given  my  two  daring  Caribs  five  dollars 
extra,  and  they  contentedly  had  been  paddled  out 
to  the  disabled  catboat  after  grateful  adieux. 
Said  my  young  guide:  "With  that  bunch  of 
plantains  and  jar  of  water,  they  will  pass  a  happy 
week  in  the  mango  grove.  They  have  a  fish-line, 
and,  with  a  fire  built  in  an  earthen  pot,  they  will 


WITH    THE    CARIBS   OFF    RUATAN    ISLAND  135 

broil  their  fish.  And  when  I  told  him  what  I  had 
paid  them,  he  declared  they  had  earned  a  good 
three  months'  wages! 

It  was  midnight  before  I  stood  upon  the  deck  oi 
the  dainty  Yankee  sea  skimmer,  and  I  had  thrown 
all  care  to  the  winds,  as  I  helped  the  youth  get  my 
trunk  out  of  the  boat  at  French  Harbor.  A  deck- 
hand gruffly  informed  me  that  the  captain  and 
mate  were  both  asleep,  and  "  not  to  be  disturbed." 

I  took  the  hint  and  contemplated  the  stars  for 
some  hours  that  night,  as  I  lay  stretched  out  upon 
an  old  sail,  and  wondering  over  the  conspiracy  of 
yellow  fever,  quarantine,  and  father  Neptum/> 
rage,  which  seemed  destined  to  keep  me  a  house- 
less wanderer,  in  the  deadly  domains  of  Hon- 
duras. 

"  But,  I  am  all  right  now  !"  I  cheerfully  cried, 
as  I  sprang  up  when  the  crew  turned  out  to  wash 
decks  at  daybreak. 

The  burly  Captain  eyed  me  with  some  astonish- 
ment, as  he  rudely  demanded,  "  What  right  had 
you  to  put  your  trunk  aboard  this  vessel?  Sin 
carries  no  passengers!  No,  sir!  Not  for  all 
your  bag  of  dollars!"  he  began.  "We  may  be 
quarantined  at  New  York  and  lose  this  wholi 
cargo,  simply  on  your  account!  You  come  from 
the  mainland  of  Honduras,  and,  your  presence 
on  our  schooner,  would  ruin  the  whole  lot  of  us." 
No  argument  would  move  him  ! 

And,  although  he  gave  me  a  good  breakfast,  the 
blunt  sailor  would  not  yield.     "I   am  sorry   for 


136  WITH    THE    CARIBS    OFF    RUATAN    ISLAND 

you,"  he  said,  at  length,  doubtfully.  "  See  here ! 
There  is  the  cottage  of  Mr.  Armstrong,  the  man 
who  owns  both  vessel  and  cargo  !  Go  up  and  make 
your  play  on  him !  I  hate  to  leave  a  Christian 
gentleman  to  die  of  yellow  jack  !  Armstrong's 
a  pretty  good  sort,  too." 

In  an  hour,  I  had  gone  over  the  whole  subject 
with  the  middle-aged  Scotch  planter.  "  The  fact 
is,  they  won't  let  you  land  at  New  York,"  he  said. 
"  Even  if  I  were  to  take  you  up  there,  you  are  in 
for  it!  I  am  sorry."  And,  even  the  pleadings  of 
the  planter's  gentle-faced  wife  were  of  no  avail. 

"  I  will  jump  off  the  schooner  on  the  first  tug 
outside  of  New  York  Harbor !  "  I  cried,  in  des- 
peration. 

"  They  would  only  land  you  at  the  Barge  Office, 
and  you  would  be  sent  back  to  the  mainland  of 
Honduras.  You  can  stay  with  me  as  long  as  you 
wish, — as  my  guest  here ;  it  won't  cost  you  a 
cent !  "  he  cried.  "  But,  I  dare  not  risk  the 
schooner  and  cargo  !  " 

I  then  lost  my  temper  a  bit,  and,  after  dilating 
upon  the  general  horrors  of  the  all-round  death 
trap,  I  flatly  planked  down  before  the  frightened 
shipowner,  a  personal  letter  from  General 
William  Tecumseh  Sherman  to  the  President  of 
Honduras.  "  If  I  ever  get  back  to  civilization,  I 
shall  tell  General  Sherman  what  a  welcome  I  re- 
ceived down  here."  The  planter's  eyes  were  very 
widely  open,  as  he  gingerly  fingered  the  kindly 
letter. 


WITH    THE    CARIBS    OFF    RUM  AN     ISLAND  l   \1 

"Did  General  Sherman  write  that  himself?"  be 
timidly  demanded. 

"  Every  line  of  it!"  I  said.  "  By  the  way,  I  have 
another  letter  from  the  General  here,  and  1*11  give 
you  that  one  !  " 

Springing  to  his  feet  the  planter  Cried  loudly  : 
"A  friend  of  General  Sherman  can  have  anything 
I've  got !  You  just  step  into  the  store  and  pay 
thirty  pesos  in  silver,  and,  you  shall  haye  the  best 
the  schooner  will  afford.  She  sails  the  moment 
we  can  get  her  out  of  the  harbor — for  bananas, 
pines,  and  cocoanuts  are  perishable  things."  I 
thanked  God  for  the  enthusiast's  singular  change 
of  heart. 

1  flew  to  the  trading  store  of  the  planter,  and 
pouched  my  paid  passage  ticket  to  New  York 
City  with  great  glee.  The  mere  scratch  of  the 
dear  old  hero's  pen  had  opened  a  gate  for  me 
which  no  money  or  urging  would  unloose!  The 
sun  was  dancing  gayly  on  the  smooth  waters  as 
our  crew  kedged  and  wrarped  the  schooner  out 
over  the  bar  at  French  Harbor.  It  was  a  fairy- 
land that  I  left,  and  a  fairy-sea  that  bore  me  on,  as 
I  watched  the  warm-hearted  Armstrong  waving 
the  Sherman  letter  in  triumph  on  the  little  pier. 
The  great  white  sails,  a  full  racing  set,  went  up 
one  by  one,  and  then,  the  graceful  runaway  danced 
along  over  the  curling  waves.  "All's  well  that 
ends  well,"  I  mused,  as  I  stuffed  my  pipe,  and 
gazed  back  upon  the  vanishing  domains  ot  Don 
Luis  Bogran. 


FIGHTING  THE  TIGER 


BY 


RICHARD  HENRY  SAVAGE 


HE    NOW    FIRED    HIS    PISTOL   INTO    THE   BRUTE'S    EAR 


FIGHTING    THE   TIGER. 


The  expression  "  Fighting  the  Tiger  "  is  one 
capable  of  considerable  latitude  of  interpretation. 
In  New  York  City,  it  may  be  construed  as  a  pray- 
erful contest  of  a  political  nature  against  the  se- 
ductive Tammany  Tiger,  in  general  American 
sporting  parlance,  it  often  refers  to  a  contest  for 
the  smiles  of  fortune  over  green  cloth  against  the 
illusory  chances  of  beating  a  well-organized  bank- 
ing game. 

In  India,  it  now  refers  to  a  judiciously  conducted 
"  society  function,"  where,  with  the  aid  of  ele- 
phants, scores  of  beaters,  and  the  support  of  many 
cross-fire  rifles  of  heaviest  caliber,  the  aroused 
"  felis  tigris,"  making  a  desperate  charge  out  of 
his  jungle  is  dispatched  "  secundum  artem,"  even 
under  the  approving  eyes  of  beauty.  Fire,  bells, 
blowing  of  horns,  and  a  horrid  din,  cause  the  panic- 
stricken  animal  to  steal  out  at  last  against  pitiable 
odds.  Nothing  is  to  be  said  against  the  superb 
individual  prowess  of  the  officers  of  the  old  East 
India  Army,  but,  modern  art  has  changed  the  con- 
ditions of  the  contest  in  Hindostan. 

It  is  far  different  with  the  Chinese,  Corean,  and 
Siberian  haunts  of  the  great  feline.     In  China  and 


142  FIGHTING    THE    TIGER 

Corea,  the  tiger  does  pretty  much  as  he  pleases — 
traps  and  poison  being  the  most  effectual  methods 
of  conquering  him. 

There  awaits  the  sportsmen  of  the  world  the 
most  magnificent  opening  of  "  happy  hunting 
grounds"  for  the  individual  "fighter,"  when  the 
Trans-Siberian  Railway  is  finished. 

The  tiger  roves  over  the  whole  Asian  world, 
never  passing  far  west  of  a  line  drawn  from  the 
Indus  to  the  Caspian  Sea. 

The  regions  of  Amoor,  Trans-Baikal,  Manchu- 
ria, Primorsk,  and  Kirin,  in  Pacific  Siberia,  and, 
Mongolia  and  Gobi  in  Northern  China,  are  infested 
by  the  most  ferocious  tigers  known  to  man. 

In  the  Russian  regions,  now  under  a  slow  politi- 
cal development,  the  hardy  English  sportsmen 
will  for  many  years  be  practically  excluded  by  the 
aversion  to  granting  passports  for  Englishmen  to 
unnecessarily  travel  in  the  Czar's  wildest  domains. 
Russia  and  England  are  fighting  a  silent  duel  for 
the  political  control  of  the  home  of  the  tiger — all 
of  Asia — with  the  chances  in  favor  of  the  Czar 
dominating  China  and  controlling  Asia. 

In  no  country  of  the  world  has  Siberia  a  parallel. 
Its  gold,  platinum,  and  gems,  its  superb  forests,  its 
mines  of  coal  and  the  useful  metals,  its  fisheries  and 
abundance  of  game,  its  agricultural  and  pomolog- 
ical  resources  ;  all  these  are  wonderful,  but,  the 
greatest  curiosity  of  its  marvelous  natural  wealth 
is  the  sweep  of  the  entombed  tropical  mammoths, 
whose  cadavers  are  even  yet  preserved  by  nature's 


FIGHTING    THE    TIGER  143 

cold  storage  process,  entombed  in  the  "  thick- 
ribbed  ice  "  of  the  Lena,  the  Yenesei,  and  the  Obi. 
The  fossil  ivory  there  to  be  quarried  will  soon  be 
the  world's  only  supply,  and  the  ancient  tropical 
fauna,  flora,  and  fossils,  may  give  us  new  unread 
pages  in  the  history  of  the  human  race. 

The  tiger  alone  of  all  the  olden  fauna,  has  clung 
to  this  mystic  region,  seldom  crossing  the  silent 
Amoor,  but  infesting  the  gloomy  forests  of  the 
southern  provinces  of  Pacific  Siberia. 

The  vast  forests  of  cedar,  oak,  ash,  beech,  elm, 
and  walnut  are  traversed  but  rarely  by  little  post- 
roads  or  tracks  leading  down  from  the  Amoor  to 
Vladivostock  and  the  Chinese  frontier. 

At  every  twenty  miles,  a  block  house  of  logs  is  a 
post  station  where  plenty  of  rye  bread,  tea,  and  the 
hunter's  harvest,  furnish  food  to  official  travelers. 
Small  detachments  of  soldiers  garrison  these  places 
and  protect  the .  post-horses  as  well  as  prevent 
wandering  convicts  from  committing  depreda- 
tions. 

The  woods,  apart  from  the  struggling  Russian 
settlements,  along  the  coast  and  the  great  river, 
are  given  up  to  the  hardy  Manchurians,  the  lineal 
descendants  of  Genghis  Khan's  warriors.  In  this 
wild  land,  where  pillars  builded  to  Timur  and 
Genghis  still  crown  the  lonely  heights,  the  fear- 
less Manchurian  hunter  reigns  supreme.  Elk. 
deer,  bear,  wolves,  foxes,  and  every  variety  of 
game  bird  are  his  means  of  subsistence,  the  fur 
animals   enabling  him  to  buy    his  powder,  lead. 


144  FIGHTING    THE    TIGER 

guns,  or  cartridges.  Taciturn,  grim,  great  of 
stature  and  keen  of  every  human  and  animal  in- 
stinct, the  Manchurian  hunter  is  a  brave  idolater 
and  free  of  all  vexatious  rules.  Braving  cold, 
fatigue,  and  privation,  he  traverses  the  pathless 
forest,  guided  by  the  stars,  and  ranges  from  Lake 
Baikal  to  the  mouth  of  the  Amoor,  from  the  Yel- 
low Sea  to  Possiette  Bay,  at  the  northern  line  of 
Corea. 

Master  of  his  own  knowledge  of  edible  roots 
and  bulbs,  a  great  flesh  eater,  his  mechanical  arts 
go  no  farther  than  making  rude  knives,  bows,  and 
lances,  and  the  rough  gear  for  his  stray  Tartar 
pony. 

To  these  bold  woodsmen  is  left  the  task  of  keep- 
ing the  post-roads  clear  of  tigers,  the  troika  team 
attached  to  the  khibitka  wagons  being  plentifully 
hung  with  bells  to  startle  the  lurking  tigers. 

Neither  Chinese,  Corean,  nor  Japanese  have  the 
bold  and  fearless  character  of  these  Manchurians, 
who  undoubtedly  are  the  progenitors  of  our  pre- 
sent North  American  Indians— such  as  the  Black- 
feet,  Cheyennes,  and  old  Comanches.  Vengeance, 
and  a  sleepless  rancor  for  injury  done,  stimulate 
them  to  a  mad  fury;  one  of  them,  some  years  ago, 
lor  an  outrage  by  a  petty  Russian  officer,  stole  in 
to  a  blockhouse,  slipped  away  with  the  sleeping 
men's  stacked  arms,  and,  taking  up  a  post  to  suit 
him,  shot  down  thirteen  out  of  fourteen  of  the 
startled  Russians,  only,  the  last  one  living  to  tell 
the  tale. 


FIGHTING    THE    TIGER 


"45 


In  these  gloomy  Manchurian  forests,  lurks  a 
tiger  whose  size  and  habits  are  different  from  the 
Indian  feline.  Whereas  the  average  Indian  tigei 
is  good  sized  when  a  ten  footer,  the  Siberian  tigei 
often  measures  fifteen  to  seventeen  feet  from  snout 
to  tip  of  tail.  Its  hide  is  fully  double  the  thick- 
ness of  the  Hindostan  tiger's  skin,  and  it  bears  a 
thick  fur  as  an  undergrowth  due  to  its  cold 
habitat,  the  pelt  being  a  hide,  with  a  fur  growth, 
and  the  beautiful  tiger  hair  coat  on  the  surface. 
The  superb  skins  brought  from  Corea  and  China 
are  often  valueless,  however,  by  reason  of  strych- 
nine poisoning,  which  causes  the  hair  to  all  fall 
out  very  soon. 

This  gigantic  animal  in  Manchuria  adopts  habits 
at  variance  with  his  cousin  of  the  Hindostan  jungle. 
The  Indian  tiger,  covered  by  the  tropical  vegeta- 
tion, in  an  over-populated  land,  swarming  with 
animals  and  human  beings,  steals  upon  his  easv 
prey,  becoming  satiated  with  human  flesh,  by 
springing  out  from  ambush  on  the  pious  Hindoos 
lurking  about  the  water  pools  for  coolness,  for 
their  religious  ablutions,  or  in  search  of  water  to 
fill  their  jars.  The  Siberian  monster  takes  his 
post  in  convenient  trees,  usually  those  of  inclined 
trunks  or  favorable  growth,  and  thence,  hurls  him- 
self headlong  upon  his  prey,  usually  the  three  horses 
of  the  troika  or  the  pony  of  the  traveler.  Then, 
if  missing  his  first  spring,  he  boldly  follows,  leap- 
ing along  in  mad  pursuit. 

A   singular   penchant  for  horse  flesh  has  pro- 


146  FIGHTING    THE    TIGER 

duced  some  of  the  strangest  episodes  of  Siberian 
tiger  hunting.  Some  ten  years  ago  a  progressive 
Russian  gentleman  imported  a  hundred  and  fifty 
valuable  horses  from  Odessa,  via  the  Suez  Canal, 
at  an  enormous  expense.  Landed  at  Vladivo- 
stock,  they  were  transferred  to  his  horse  farm  not 
five  miles  from  the  Golden  Gate  of  the  East. 

There,  in  the  very  suburbs  of  a  garrison  of  ten 
thousand,  guarded  by  hardy  and  well  armed  at- 
tendants, it  was  found  necessary  to  build  a  fifteen 
foot  palisade  around  the  beleaguered  equines.  The 
vast  number  of  giant  tigers,  attracted  by  this  unfor- 
tunate commercial  experiment,  created  a  serious 
loss  of  human  life.  The  boldest  Siberians  became 
dismayed,  and  a  full  company  of  regular  Russian 
troops,  under  their  officers,  and  armed  with  heavy 
Berdan  military  rifles  and  double  revolvers,  were 
sent  to  fight  the  invaders.  The  scent  of  the  im- 
prisoned animals  maddened  the  tigers,  and  the 
roads  were  practically  blockaded.  For  several 
months,  the  unequal  contest  went  on.  Dozens  of 
tigers  were  killed  by  volley  firing,  until  the 
nervous  strain  became  unbearable,  and  the  troops 
flatly  refused  to  keep  their  post ! 

A  handsome  carriage  span  from  the  survivors 
was  presented  to  the  Governor,  and  the  last  six  or 
seven  of  the  beautiful  Ukraine  breeding  animals 
were,  one  by  one,  killed  and  eaten  by  the  beasts  at 
a  little  summer  resort  not  a  mile  from  the  Govern- 
ing Admiral's  palace !  One  of  the  last  of  the  car- 
casses served  as  a  bait  to  a  trap  made  by  digging 


FIGHTING    THE    TIGER  I  47 

a  deep  pit.  Over  this,  on  a  very  weak  staging, 
the  carcass  was  left,  and  the  impulsive  spring  of 
the  one  unlucky  tiger  of  that  ever  victorious  army, 
landed  him  in  a  fifteen-foot  hole,  with  sides  so  in- 
clined that  he  could  not  claw  himself  out.  A  box 
was  lowered  over  the  beast,  he  was  starved  into 
seeking  food  in  it,  and  the  huge  door  then  closed 
by  a  strong  wire.  This  particular  animal  made 
thousands  of  roubles  for  his  captors,  for  he  was 
taken  overland  to  St.  Petersburg,  exhibited,  and, 
finally  deposited,  there,  in  the  Zoological  Gardens. 

During  a  visit  of  mine  to  Siberia  in  1885,  a 
dramatic  incident  occurred  in  a  grand  hunt  given 
by  a  Russian  General,  near  Possiette  Bay.  Two 
hundred  soldiers  with  double  belts  of  cartridges 
and  their  seven-shooter  rifles  of  enormous  caliber, 
were  marshaled  as  a  line  of  beaters,  a  yard  apart, 
to  drive  the  game  down  a  long,  narrow  neck  about 
fifteen  miles  long. 

The  general  and  his  guests,  well  mounted, 
awaited  the  coming  of  the  heavier  game,  at  the 
most  advantageous  firing  line,  the  beaters  having 
orders  to  cease  firing  on  arriving  in  the  vicinity. 
The  sport  was  going  bravely  on,  elk,  bear,  deer, 
and  wolves  were  falling  right  and  left,  when  with 
a  roar,  a  gigantic  tiger  made  a  dash  for  the  General, 
and,  disdaining  a  volley  from  the  hardy  foot  sol. 
diers  posted  near  him,  dragged  down  both  horse 
and  General. 

The  faithful  soldiers  of  the  Czar  closed  in,  and 
the  result  of  the  mclce,  was  a  dead  charger,  his 


148  FIGHTING    THE    TIGER 

throat  torn  open  with  a  single  sweep  of  the  claws, 
a  badly  wounded  General,  and  four  dead  soldiers, 
two  of  whom,  were  killed  by  the  frantic  animal, 
and  two,  accidentally  shot  in  the  wild  firing  at 
short  range,  to  save  the  Commander's  life. 

It  was  in  early  October,  '85,  that  a  young  Man- 
churian  lad  of  eighteen,  left  Vladivostock  for  a 
week's  elk  and  deer  hunt  in  the  great  forest  sweep- 
ing to  the  Ussuri  River.  The  hunter's  companion 
was  a  stocky  built  young  Russian  hunter,  Ivan 
Ortich,  about  twenty-three  years  of  age,  and  they 
had  been,  for  a  couple  of  years,  companions  in  the 
chase.  The  deer  and  elk  sold  well  in  the  bazar 
market  at  Vladivostock,  the  skins  and  pelts  of 
smaller  animals  gave  them  a  good  revenue,  and 
they  had,  following  the  needs  of  their  trade,  ob- 
tained a  good  battery  from  the  ample  stores  of  the 
German  traders. 

Ivan  had  a  good  Winchester  Express  rifle, 
Agar,  the  young  Manchurian,  a  seven-shooting 
Hotchkiss  rifle,  and,  each  bore  the  heavy  Smith 
&  Wesson  eight-inch  army  revolver  slung  over 
their  necks  by  a  diagonal  double  leather  thong. 

A  heavy  hunting  knife  and  a  hatchet  were  hung 
from  their  belts  by  a  light  chain,  and  under  their 
felt-lined  leather  jackets  were  their  doubled  cart- 
ridge belts. 

They  took  with  them  but  one  pony  with  their 
slender  supplies,  it  being  their  custom  to  hang  up 
the  deer  and  elk  on  a  staging  of  poles,  after  dis- 
emboweling the  game,  and  in  case  of  luck,  while 


FIGHTING    THE    TIGER  1 49 

one  waited  on  watch,  with  a  wcll-krpt-up  fire,  to 
frighten  the  wild  beasts,  the  other  would  return 
for  three  or  four  ponies,  or  a  heavy  road  sled  to 
drag  home  the  game. 

On  this  particular  occasion,  the  hunters'  luck- 
had  been  exceptional.  A  band  of  splendid  elk. 
seven  in  number,  had  been  rounded  up  and  fallen 
before  the  unerring  rifles  of  the  friends.  And, 
five  fat  deer  were  also  hung  up  by  their  heels  on 
forked  branches,  lopped  off  five  feet  above  the 
ground.  In  the  crisp,  cool,  October  nights,  the 
game  would  cool  and  harden  and  be  in  prime 
market  condition  at  any  time  during  a  week.  The 
absence  of  moisture  in  the  air  and  flies,  made  it  an 
easy  matter  to  keep  properly  bled  and  dressed 
game,  in  a  land  where  salmon  piled  up  like  cord 
wood,  keep  outside  the  huts  all  winter,  one  of 
these  frozen  fish  breaking  like  a  stone  when 
struck,  and  where  frozen  milk  in  four-foot  slabs 
might  serve  as  policemen's  clubs. 

Agar  was  light  at  heart  as  he  left  his  friend  to 
tend  their  girdle  of  fire,  and  mounted  their  only 
pony  to  ride  into  Vladivostock  for  two  ox  sleds 
to  drag  home  the  game,  and  he  joyfully  scented 
a  fifty  rouble  profit  in  the  game  alone,  besides  the 
great  value  of  the  skin  of  a  superb  black  fox  which 
he  carried  rolled  up  behind  his  rude  saddle. 

Ivan  wras  well  provided  with  fagots  to  feed  his 
fire;  he  was  thoroughly  armed,  and  his  tea-pot 
simmered  gayly  on  the  little  camp  tire,  while  hi- 
pouch  of  wild  Chinese  tobacco  had  been  refilled 
by  his  comrade. 


150  FIGHTING    THE    TIGER 

It  was  in  the  dusk  of  the  next  evening  that  Agar 
led  on  his  two  Corean  peasants,  each  guiding  a 
rough  road  sled  drawn  by  trained  Corean  oxen, 
and  neared  the  scene  of  their  camp.  He  had  been 
so  elated  with  their  unusual  success  that  he  had 
failed  to  locate  the  camp  correctly,  and  he  bade 
his  two  followers  await  at  the  nearest  recognized 
point  on  the  main  road,  while  he  sought  a  prac- 
ticable way  through  the  gloomy  forest  shades  to 
where  his  friend  was  awaiting  him. 

At  last,  he  recognized  the  clump  of  heavy  cedars 
around  whose  bases  the  game  had  been  hung  up, 
and  he  could  see  the  faint,  blue  smoldering  smoke 
of  a  dying  fire.  He  whooped  gayly  as  he  trotted 
his  pony  forward,  but,  there  was  no  answering 
response !  He  was  surprised,  and  his  voice  only 
echoed  back  in  a  lonely  wail  from  the  woods.  He 
drew  up  his  pony.  There  were  always  bad  men. 
Perhaps  some  wild  Manchurians  had  overpowered 
Ivan  and  taken  away  the  valuable  game  !  Some- 
thing had  happened ! 

With  true  Manchurian  cunning,  he  leaped  off, 
tied  his  pony,  and  then,  circling  around  the  camp 
at  a  distance  of  a  hundred  yards,  stole  cautiously 
toward  it,  his  heavy  Hotchkiss  rifle  charged  and  the 
magazine  turned  on.  Did  he  see  something  mov- 
ing? He  was  within  fifty  yards  now.  He  tried  to 
call  out,  but  his  voice  died  away.  Already  he  was 
in  sight  of  the  forms  of  the  elk  lying  piled  on  the 
rude  platform,  and  the  smaller  deer  hanging  from 
the  branches.     Keeping  trees  in  line  ahead  of  him, 


FIGHTING    THE    TIGER  151 

he  stole  forward  with  his  finger  on  the  trigger  of 
his  rifle.  The  circle  of  fire  had  all  smoldered 
away,  and  there  was  no  sign  of  any  movement. 
Had  Ivan  Ortich  become  sick  and  wandered  away  ? 
He  strode  boldly  across  the  ring  of  ashes  to 
something  lying  there  prone  which  at  once  his 
heart  told  him  was  his  dead  friend. 

Before  he  could  cry  out  "  Ivan,"  a  huge  black 
and  yellow  moving  object  swung  down  before  him 
and  planted  its  paws  on  the  body  of  the  prostrate 
hunter! 

With  a  nervous  energy,  born  of  desperation, 
Agar  fired  thrice  point-blank  into  the  breast  of  the 
huge  monster,  and  was  rolled  over  by  the  dying 
charge  of  the  desperate  brute !  His  Hotchkiss 
rifle  was  knocked  out  of  his  hand,  and  fell  several 
feet  away  from  him. 

"  Tigers ! "  he  blankly  murmured,  as  he  struggled 
to  his  feet,  and  then,  with  a  yell,  the  giant  mate  of 
the  dead  animal  leaped  down  upon  him  from  a 
long,  low  tree  trunk.  The  beast's  teeth  closed  in 
his  left  shoulder  and  crushed  the  bones  of  his  arms 
like  pipe  stems. 

The  heavy  leather  jacket,  with  its  thick,  red, 
felt  lining,  alone  prevented  the  beast  tearing  out 
the  arm.  And  the  monster  feline,  shaking  him 
like  a  rat,  then  began  to  drag  him  away  toward 
the  thick  underbrush.  His  face  was  turned  down- 
ward, and  at  every  few  pulls,  the  great  cat  would 
loosen  her  hold  and  strike  him  across  the  ba<  k 
with  her  claws! 


152  FIGHTING    THE    TIGER 

It  dawned  upon  him  that  the  second  tiger  was 
infuriated  by  the  loss  of  its  mate,  and,  his  legs 
catching  in  some  oak  scrub,  he  caught  hold  of  his 
revolver  chain.  There  was  but  one  instinct  now, 
relief  from  the  yellow-eyed,  fire-fanged  brute  whose 
hot  breath  sickened  him  !  He  cocked  the  Smith 
&  Wesson  revolver  with  his  right  and  fired  directly 
into  the  tiger's  mouth  as  it  clenched  its  teeth 
again  and  again  in  the  poor  lad's  shoulder.  With 
a  snort,  the  animal  threw  back  its  head,  and  as  he 
lay,  ready,  dashed  on  him  again,  grasping  his  arm 
lower  down.  He  now  fired  his  pistol  into  the 
brute's  ear !  With  a  fearful  growl,  it  closed  its  teeth 
into  the  lower  arm  and  began  to  paw  the  ground  ! 
He  had  regained  his  consciousness,  and  then, 
thrust  the  weapon  into  the  tiger's  mouth,  firing 
full  down  its  throat ! 

And  then,  everything  seemed  to  swim  around 
him,  he  fainted  away,  and  was  only  revived  by  the 
pain  of  the  Coreans  trying  to  lift  him,  when  they 
had  wandered  around  and  at  last,  stumbled  upon 
the  camp. 

The  cold  of  the  chill  evening  had  stopped  his 
bleeding  somewhat,  and  the  frightened  peasants 
had  found  him  with  one  huge  tiger  lying  dead 
across  his  half-devoured  friend,  and  the  dauntless 
Manchurian  boy  was  lying,  literally,  in  the  em- 
brace of  the  enormous  beast,  with  which  he  had 
battled  to  the  death. 

The  shoulder  joint  was  badly  lacerated,  but  the 
natives  knew  enough  to  twist  a  hide  thong  around 


FIGHTING    THI    TIG1 

his  arm  to  stop  the  bleeding  artery.     Leaving  all 

else  there,  they  carried  him  to  his  pony  and  one  of 
them  caught  up  poor  Ivan's  Winchester  and  a  bell 
of  cartridges.  They  made  their  way  to  the  main 
road,  and,  by  a  rare  chance  met  the  mail  Khibitka 
with  a  brave  officer  as  passenger. 

In  half  an  hour,  Agar,  buried  in  furs,  was  be- 
ing trundled  along  to  Vladivostock. 

The  gallant  officer,  with  the  two  Coreans,  re- 
turned to  the  scene  of  the  fight.  The  story  told 
itself!  Poor  Ivan  had  probably  been  surprised  at 
his  supper,  and  had  no  time  to  fire  a  shot.  lie 
had  been  killed  the  night  before,  ard  the  two 
tigers  had  torn  him  to  death  and  then  feasted  upon 
the  choicest  portions  ol  the  hard-fought  game. 
Captain  Platoff  loaded  up  the  whole  of  the  mute 
witnesses  of  the  hunters'  skill  and  the  battle  to  the 
death,  and  escorted  the  two  sleds  to  the  main  road 
where  a  party  of  Cossacks  soon  arrived  from  town 
with  help. 

The  amputation  of  Agar's  arm  made  him  in 
time,  almost  as  good  as  new,  and  gave  him  rank 
far  and  near,  as  a  local  hero. 

In  time,  he  was  able  to  tell  the  main  details  of  his 
thrilling  adventure,  and  he  strangely  profited  by  the 
duel  to  the  death.  In  the  splendid  Russian  mili- 
tary hospital,  he  soon  recovered,  and  the  two  huge 
tigers  were  carefully  skinned,  as  proofs  of  the  bo\  's 
heroism. 

Their  skins  were  cured,  were  sewed  together, 
and  quite  neatly    stuffed    with  straw  and   moss,  to 


154  FIGHTING    THE    TIGER 

reproduce  their  exact  physical  dimensions.  In  a 
wareroom  of  Kunst  and  Albers,  the  great  German 
tradinghouse,  I  saw  these  huge  monsters,  and,  one, 
which  laid  along  the  side  of  a  twenty  foot  room, 
left  only  one  foot  between  his  tail  and  the  end  of 
the  room.  They  were  seventeen  and  nineteen 
feet  long  respectively,  and  it  was  the  female,  the 
seventeen-footer,  which  had  tried  to  drag  Agar 
away  to  make  a  quiet  meal  of  him. 

The  boy  was  made  a  mail  carrier  guard,  and 
furnished  with  an  artificial  arm.  He  always  stated 
that  in  his  handling  the  revolver,  he  was,  at  first, 
actuated  by  mere  retributive  instinct,  but  that 
after  the  first  shot,  his  wits  somewhat  returned, 
and  he  felt  a  fierce  desire  to  finish  his  enemy  by 
trying  to  find  a  vulnerable  place.  "  I  tried  once 
to  shoot  into  her  eye,"  he  said,  "  but  she  was  look- 
ing at  me,  and  she  twisted  her  head  away,  and 
shook  me  like  a  rat !  "  .  .  .  His  last  remark, 
always  was,  as  he  pocketed  a  few  roubles,  "  / 
do  not  want  to  fight  any  more  tigers." 


A   HUNT   IN  COREA 

BY 

RICHARD  HENRY  SAVAQE 


WE    WERE   THE    HUNTED    FUGITIVES 


A   HUNT    IN    COREA. 


It  was  in  October,  eighteen  hundred  and  eighty- 
five,  that  I  found  myself  coasting  along  the  forbid- 
den-looking shores  of  Eastern  Corea,  en  route  for 
Vladivostock,  Siberia,  and  the  Amoor  River. 
There  are  dreams  in  life  destined  never  to  be  real- 
ized, usually  the  rosy-tinged  clouds  of  youthful 
anticipations,  but  a  singular  life  itinerary  is  often 
brought  about  by  trifling  switches  from  the  beaten 
path.  Japan,  China,  Siberia,  and  Corea  were  terra 
incognita  to  my  wildest  dreams  of  world-wandering, 
and  yet,  in  two  years,  I  visited  them  all  twice 
under  the  fluctuating,  quivering  compass  card  of 
commercial  speculation. 

In  leaving  beautiful  Nagasaki,  on  a  splendid  steel 
Clyde- built  steamer  sailing  under  an  unpronounce- 
able name,  under  the  Japanese  flag,  we  were  not 
especially  persona  grata  in  the  "  Land  of  the  Morn- 
ing Calm."  The  people  of  <4Cho  Sen"  still  re- 
member the  descent  of  Hideyoshi  in  htteen-ninet  v- 
seven,  when  the  two  hundred  thousand  match] 
Japanese  swordsmen  swept  from  Fusan  to  Pin 
Yang,  in  one  glorious  campaign. 

Our  steamer  was  one  of  the  largest  in  the  great 
Japanese  mercantile  fleet,  the  "  Hiogo  Mara," 


158  A    HUNT    IN    COREA 

"  Hiogo  Sea  Goer,"  and  my  wife  and  I,  had  the  whole 
magnificent  cabin  to  ourselves.  There  was  only 
one  sturdy  Chinese  stewardess  on  board,  a  comely 
big-foot  woman,  fit  to  be  a  bride  for  "  Tom  Bowl- 
ing." The  engine-room  and  wardroom  were  filled 
with  three  or  four  canny  Scotsmen,  the  steam 
engineers,  who  never  left  their  cosy  haunts,  save 
for  the  room  where  they  directed  the  workings  of 
their  beautiful  marine  mechanism,  as  gracefully 
finished  as  jewelry. 

The  Captain  was  the  only  other  white  person  in 
the  splendid  crew  of  a  hundred  and  fifty,  and  a 
splendid  specimen  of  the  north  country  Scot.  He 
kept  up  a  naval  discipline  on  the  boat,  and,  royally 
entertained  his  only  two  first-class  passengers. 
Andrew  Meeker  was  as  fine  a  fellow  as  ever  sang 
"Scots  wha  hae,"  or  sat  around  the  smoking 
11  haggis."  Fifteen  years  in  the  Japanese  service 
had  made  him  a  perfect  linguist  among  the  won- 
derfully acute  race  whom  foolish  tourists  designate 
as  the  "  little  brown  men." 

His  cruise  extended  for  nine  months  of  the  year, 
from  Nagasaki,  across  the  straits  of  Corea,  to 
Fusan  and  Gensan,  along  the  whole  coast  of  Corea, 
to  Russian  Siberia,  Saghalien,  and  the  mouth  of 
the  Amoor  River.  In  the  three  months  when 
Vladivostock  Harbor  was  closed  by  ice,  his  beau- 
tiful vessel  was  used  on  shorter  cruises  by  the 
Mitsu-Bishi  Steamship  Company. 

Captain  Meeker  opened  both  his  heart  and  his 
larder    to    us,    and    my    wife    and     1    had    the 


A    HUNT    IN    COREA  i 

largest  liberty,  with  twenty  superb  staterooms  to 
roam  around  at  will.    A  magnificent  steel-bronze 

colored    Siberian    blood-hound    was    given    souk 
mysterious   password    for   us;    a  superb    ta.il I < 
Corean   cat  was   also  introduced,   whose  rolling 
growl  was  like  the  thunder  of  war  drums  afar,  and 
whose  rich  red  and  black-spotted  fur  was  a  de- 
lightful color  symphony. 

The  king  of  all  golden  macaws  was  the  third 
cabin  pet,  and,  I  can  never  forget  the  day  when 
macaw,  reformed  tiger  cat,  and  Siberian  blood- 
hound all  wound  up  in  my  wife's  stateroom  in  a 
wild  tangle  of  barks,  yells,  and  screams,  with 
bronze,  yellow  and  gold,  black  and  red,  all  mixed 
in  a  fighting  phantasmagoria. 

As  we  sailed  out  of  the  exquisite  Nagasaki  Har- 
bor, under  the  white  flag  with  its  red  ball,  past  the 
grim  red  forts,  with  the  heavy  Krupp  barkers, 
ready  for  Russian  or  Chinese,  we  took  with  us  in 
our  ship's  company  of  a  hundred  deck  passengers, 
a  four-thousand-ton  cargo,  and  a  crew  of  a  hun- 
dred and  fifty,  the  germs  of  that  ghastly  and  silent 
scourge — the  cholera ! 

But,  we  were  merry  withal,  as  we  swept  along 
over  perfumed  seas,  passing  myriad  little  twin- 
kling lights  of  fisher  boats  at  night,  and  dashing 
on  beyond  storied  and  castled  Tchusima,  to  dart  in 
and  make  a  first  Corean  landing  at  Gcnsan.  We 
had  spent  a  delightful  month  in  Japan,  among  the 
polite  and  courtly  children  of  the  old  M  Samauri 
and  I  was  eager  to  try  my  extensive  hunting  bat- 


160  A    HUNT    IN    COREA 

tery  upon  the  game  of  Corea  and  Siberia.     I  was 
furnished  forth  a  la  Gordon  Cumming. 

When  we  had  experienced  the  delights  of  being 
hove  to  for  twelve  hours  in  a  howling  typhoon,  I 
realized  the  hardy  nerve  of  the  Japanese  coasters. 
Their  frail-looking,  high-built  junks,  with  the  sea 
sweeping  apparently  clear  through  the  stern,  were 
seen  drifting  with  sea  anchors,  while  whole  fami- 
lies gathered  around  the  rice  pot  and  fish  kettles, 
bidding  defiance  to  rude  Boreas. 

When  I  awoke  and  peered  out  of  the  great 
cabin  ports  in  the  beautiful  circular  harbor  of 
Fusan,  I  started  in  horror!  Though  a  splendid 
temple  and  some  pretty  tree-embowered  cottages 
shone  out  on  Japanese  point,  where  the  old  in- 
vaders still  keep  a  foothold,  the  low,  thatched 
roofed  mud  hovels  of  the  Corean  town  were  most 
filthy  and  repulsive.  Around  us  rose  bare,  bleak 
hills,  like  an  amphitheater,  and  they  were  covered 
with  some  thousands  of  white,  ghost-like  looking 
beings,  scattered  in  groups  of  fifty  or  a  hundred 
on  the  rocky  knolls. 

It  looked  as  if  generations  of  the  dead  had  risen 
as  dread  ghosts,  startled  by  the  scream  of  the 
steam  whistle  of  the  Hiogo  Maru.  To  rush  out, 
clad  only  in  kimono  and  pyjamas,  and  seize  the 
Captain's  glasses  was  my  first  action. 

Meeker  gayly  laughed,  "  There,  Sir,  is  half  the 
population  of  Fusan,  and  they  will  sit  there  all 
day  and  watch  us  till  we  are  hull  down.  For 
filthy,  cantankerous,  idle,  noisy,  quarrelsome  chat- 


A    HUNT    IN    <  ORE  \  l6l 

terers,  cowardly  and  vicious,  the  Coreans  cannot 

be  matched  in  the  whole  world  !  " 

When  a  dozen  lighters  came  alongside,  with  a 
hundred  or  more  of  the  natives,  in  their  loo 
cotton-padded  white  jackets,  and  baggy  trotlSi 
of  the  same  color,  I  understood  the  graveyard 
spooks  who  crowded  the  bare  hilN.  The 
tufted  hair,  clinched  in  a  knot  on  their  ban 
heads,  surmounted  frankly  coarse  and  sensual 
faces.  The  din  and  chatter  and  yells  were  soon 
deafening  around  us.  A  duplicate  board  of 
Corean  and  Japanese  quarantine  doctors  came 
off  in  an  official  boat  and  gravely  forbade  us 
landing.  Our  "  cholera "  taint  had  been  whis- 
pered, and  myself  and  wife  were  duly  sprinkled 
with  perfume  from  an  atomizer,  and  forbidden  to 
land.  While  we  discharged  our  Fusan  cargo,  I 
watched  the  native  boats  bringing  us  a  dozen 
huge  cylindrical  fishes,  some  twelve  to  fifteen  feel 
long,  and  as  round  as  a  mainmast.  Sections  of 
these,  sawed  off  with  a  saber,  were  stood  upright 
like  drums  of  solid  red  meat  cased  in  glistening 
silver. 

On  the  quarter-deck  that  evening,  with  my  wife. 
I  watched  the  lights  of  the  forbidden  town,  and 
was  not  sorry  when  we  steamed  out  and  ran  along 
the  great  gray-jagged  Tiger  mountains,  stretching 
faraway  to  join  the  Kendeh-a-lin  range  of  Man 
churia.  Bare,  gloomy,  treeless,  cold  and  bleak. 
their  gray  volcanic  buttresses  towered  ten  thousand 
feet  in  the  air. 


162  A    HUNT    IN    COREA 

Groups  of  ugly,  rocky  islands  lay  along  the 
coast,  and  a  fearful  gale  blew  off  shore  for  three 
days.  We  lay  to,  to  endeavor  to  rescue  three 
Coreans  who  were  blown  fifty  miles  out  to  sea,  in 
an  open  skiff  some  thirty  feet  long.  With  an  out- 
rigger and  a  quaint  matting  sail,  steering  with  an 
oar,  they  had  a  sort  of  drag  out,  and  absolutely 
refused  to  leave  their  frail  craft !  Captain  Meeker 
offered  to  hoist  their  whole  rig  on  deck,  but  they 
defiantly  refused  to  be  aided.  We  tossed  them  a 
bag  of  bread  and  a  keg  of  water,  and  left  them  to 
the  mercy  of  the  God  of  storms. 

Only  here  and  there,  could  little  clearings  be 
seen  on  the  hills,  where  a  little  scratched-in  rice 
seemed  to  be  cultivated,  the  only  goods  available 
at  Fusan  being  hides  and  salted  fish.  There  was 
no  sign  of  timber,  and  the  breaking  waves  dashed 
high  on  sharp-fanged  cliffs  sixty  and  eighty  feet 
high.  A  cheerless  and  a  stormy  coast !  Nearing 
Cape  Duroch,  we  saw  all  the  grinding  wreckage 
of  a  Japanese  c/uiser  churning  among  the  breakers 
where  five  hundred  brave  men  had  perished.  The 
desire  to  oblige  the  few  beach-combing  Coreans, 
and  to  test  the  power  of  a  heavy  double  English 
rifle,  led  me  to  "  open  fire  "  on  a  fifty-foot  whale 
who  paddled  audaciously  near  to  us.  The  fifth 
Boxer  cartridge,  .577  caliber  (specially  loaded), 
finished  the  largest  animal  which  ever  fell  to  my 
bag,  and  only  the  insurance  clause  prevented 
Meeker  from  towing  him  into  Gensan.  But  the 
Coreans  who  found  him,  when  he  drifted  ashore, 
were  greatly  profited. 


A     II  T. VI      IN     <  <>KI    \  I63 

A  Long  wooded  sandy  spit,  veiling  the  mouth  of 

a  small  river,  broke  upon  our  view  as  we  steamed 
into  Gensan,  the  only  Corcan  port,  next  to  Po 
siette -Bay,  the  Russian  border  town  of  Pacific 
Siberia.  Three  or  four  hundred  flat-roofed  mud 
hovels  were  strung  along  the  beach,  and  a  vail 
opening  into  a  cleft  in  the  enormous  mountain- 
twenty  miles  away  showed  some  signs  of  cultiva- 
tion. There  was  to  be  seen  on  the  beach  two 
neatly  built  European  wooden  houses,  a  halt  mile 
north  of  the  Corean  town.  They  had  been  sent  out 
from  England,  already  jointed  up,  in  ships,  to  be 
used  by  the  families  of  two  English  officials  in 
some  strange  way  forming  the  customs  staff  the: 

A  three  days'  stay,  while  unloading  a  go.  ..I  half 
of  our  cargo,  allowed  the  exiled  ladies  the  privi- 
lege of  an  unexpected  visit  from  a  womanly  sister 
fresh  from  the  gay  circles  of  Petersburg,  Paris, 
and  London. 

The  excellent  corps  of  Japanese  officers  took 
charge  of  the  ship  while  Andrew  Meeker  prepared 
to  pilot  me  into  the  interior,  a  score  of  miles  1  >r 
on  a  hunting  trip.  Our  departure  was  to  be  kept 
a  secret  from  the  Corean  authorities,  who  objected 
to  allowing  foreigners  to  enter  their  houses,  roam 
over  their  fields,  or  penetrate  the  interior. 

Our  httle  social  circle  had.  in  a  body,  roai 
over  the  repulsive  town  of  Gensan  under  gu 
of  several  Corean  officials,  one  o\  whom  in 
mourning    robes  was    doomed    to  be    unit 
year  as  a  further  mark  of  mourning,  tl  ting 


164  A   HUNT    IN    COREA 

all  his  business  by  finger  signs,  seemingly  well 
understood. 

The  men,  with  babies  slung  in  pouches  on  their 
backs,  seemed  to  loaf  idly  in  the  street,  only  busied 
in  smoking  the  vilest  native  tobacco  in  long 
straight  pipes,  which  seemed  to  be  wind  defy- 
ing. 

The  women  darted  into  their  squalid  hovels  on 
our  approach,  their  baggy  trousers  in  no  way  dis- 
tinguishing them  from  the  men.  I  have  seen  the 
hovels  of  all  the  indigenes  of  the  world,  but  the 
Corean  hut  for  filth  is  the  most  repulsive.  An 
alarming  scarcity  of  fuel  leads  to  the  use  of  dried 
cow  manure  as  fuel,  the  mud  floors  being  per- 
forated with  flues  built  under  them. 

To  disguise  our  purpose  of  visiting  the  interior, 
Captain  Meeker  had  his  smart  gig  crew  row  us 
into  the  mouth  of  the  little  river  above  the  town 
before  daylight,  and  furnished  with  provisions, 
bade  the  crew  work  well  up  the  river  at  dark  and 
pick  us  up  at  a  bend  some  eight  miles  above  Gen- 
san. 

There  was  a  famous  old  temple  to  be  visited 
and  a  view  of  the  interior  western  valley,  which 
stretches  facing  the  Yellow  Sea  from  Mauchang 
to  the  Silver  Plateau.  Meeker  had  never  peeped 
through  the  defile  of  the  Pwanlung  Shan  range. 
The  hardy  Scot  had  his  fowling-piece,  12-gauge, 
and  a  good  revolver,  with  store  of  cartridges,  fine 
and  coarse,  and  twenty  rounds  of  pistol  ammuni- 
tion.    I  had  my  rifle  and  fowling-piece  combined, 


A    HUN  l     i.\    (  OREA  165 

with  fifty  rounds  of  mixed  ball,  bu<  k  and  shot 
cartridges,  my  revolver,  knife,  and  twenty  pistol 
rounds.  A  good  haversack  of  lunch  and  two  <  an- 
teens  made  up  our  backloads,  and  tare  were  rigged 
out  in  hunter's  canvas  suits  and  high  boots. 

After  our  boatmen  left  us,  we  struck  out  from 
the  river  and  passed  a  brook  on  a  beautiful  old- 
pointed  arch  stone  bridge,  evidently  dating  ha<  k 
to  the  days  of  Kishi.  There  were  numbers  of 
gray  stone  tablets  handsomely  engraved  with  old 
obsolete  characters,  mounted  on  blocks  three  or 
four  feet  square.  These  related  the  virtues  ot 
dead  men  of  note,  or  bore  old  laws  or  public  in- 
scriptions. The  daylight  came  blushing  over  the  sea. 

We     had   passed     abundant     flocks   of 
cranes,  flamingoes  and  wild  ducks  in  the  marshes, 
with  plovers  and    snipe  galore,  but,   we  derided 
not  to  fire  for  fear  of  alarming  the  morose  dwell- 
ers in  the  valley. 

We  made  careful  detours  and  avoided  troops  of 
chattering  men  and  women,  mounted  straddle  on 
tame  oxen,  going  into  Gensan.  Lines  of  women 
bearing  scanty  marketing  on  a  frame  of  sticks 
lashed  to  their  backs,  plodded  along,  the  men 
wandering  idly  after  them,  smoking  the  eighteen- 
mch  pipe,  and  "  toting  "  the  babies  on  their  harks. 
but,  strangely  enough,  bearing  no  other  burdens  I 
The  little  fields  ol  rice  were  triangular  plateaus 
arranged  so  as  to  drain  the  one  into  the  other, 
with  rude  rough-stone  partitions,  and  the  mud 
walled,  thatched-roof  hovels  were  surrounded   by 


l66  A    HUNT    IN    COREA 

composts  of  trodden  manure.  Not  a  wheeled 
vehicle  was  to  be  seen,  and  the  road  into  the  de- 
file, soon  became  only  an  ox-path,  then  a  trail,  and 
finally  a  stony  path.  We  passed  scattered  grave- 
yards, all  telling  of  a  dense  population  in  the  old 
days  of  Chinese  and  Japanese  suzerainty. 

In  four  or  five  hours,  we  had  crowned  the  defile 
and  could  see  the  whole  valley  spread  out  below, 
the  black,  dirty  town  huddled  on  the  wharfless 
beach,  the  two  custom-houses,  the  graceful  steel 
Hiogo  Maru,  with  clouds  of  barges  around  her, 
and  the  fishing  boats  spread  out  fan-like  over  the 
open  roadstead. 

We  had  been  geologizing,  botanizing,  and  won- 
dering at  the  stern  struggle  for  life  in  the  bleak 
and  unfriendly  countryside,  and,  pipe  in  mouth, 
jogged  along  unmindful  perhaps  of  frightened  vil- 
lagers running  along  in  a  gathering  cloud  around 
us,  but,  so  far,  as  skillfully  concealed  as  Apache 
scouts.  It  was  afternoon  when  we  saw  the  gray 
domes  of  the  long-looked-for  temple  shining  out 
in  the  glen,  whence  a  gurgling  brook  ran  down  to 
grow  into  a  river  and  flow  into  the  Yellow  sea. 

The  temple,  which  we  examined  carefully,  was 
empty  and  deserted.  Its  gods  were  dead.  Its 
priests  were  fled.  It  had  spacious  halls  and  mas- 
sive columned  porticoes.  Four  rounded  domes, 
with  flat  lintel  openings  and  several  pointed 
arches,  with  many  rounded  columns  and  flights  of 
steps  all  carved  of  hard  gray  basaltic  stone,  were 
left,  with  a  score  of  upright  tablets  with  deeply 


A    BUNT    IN    C(  >ii   \ 

engraved  characters,  to  tell  of  a  vanished  past.     It 

was  a  magnificent  relic  of  better  da\  5. 

There  was  no  song  of  birds,  no  cheerful  smoke 

of  happy  homes,  nothing   to   indicate  life  or  }>i 
perity.     Only  these  relics  of  a  dead  worship,  which 

seemed  gigantic  in  a  land  not  now  possessed  ol  any 
of  the  mechanical  powers.  It  would  be  impossible 
for  the  degraded  Coreansof  to-dav,  to  erect  even  a 
single  porch  of  the  temple  of  the  vanished  gods. 

"And  this,  is  the  richest  valley  of  the  Ham-ki- 
ang,"  said  Captain  Meeker  ;  "  a  little  rice,  millet  and 
beans,  a  few    mangy  oxen,  half-starved    chickens, 
and   razor-backed   pigs.     Barbarous  isolation   1 
caused   these  people  to  forget  the  glorious  time 
when  their  Corean  tongue  was   the  parent  of  the 
graceful  and  impassioned  Japanese.     The  Mongol, 
the    Tartar,  the   Chinese,  the   Japanese,  have  all 
ruled  here  as  conquerors,  and  the  fabled  wealth  of 
the  land  is  a  myth.     No  one  knows  if  there  are 
five  or  twenty  millions  of  people  in  the  wretched 
peninsula,  and  Tokingen,  near  here,  and  Katsuma 
are  fallen  to  decay.     A   few  bronze  bowls,  a  tew 
pipes,  a  little  native  cotton  and  tobacco,  seem  all 
the  valuable  products,  save  hemp,  fish,  and   hid 
The  barbarous  policy  of  excluding  foreigners  1 
kept  these   people  in   conflict  with  the  Japanc 
French,  and  Americans.     They  have   bred  in  and 
in,  and  so  lost  language,  arts,  and  religion.   Neither 
roads   nor   bridges  are    available,    as    a   rule,  the 
Government  is  a  myth,  and  a  ferocious  hatred 
Christianity  exists." 


1 68  A   HUNT    IN    COREA 

"  What  will  become  of  Corea  ? "  I  asked,  as  we 
finished  our  lunch  and  prepared  to  hunt  back  on 
the  northern  side  of  the  valley.  A  great  storm 
seemed  to  hover  over  the  northwest  mountains, 
and  the  air  was  raw  and  chill. 

"  Russia,  the  great  national  grab-all,  will  take 
the  peninsula  some  day,  when  her  secret  friendship 
with  China  is  cemented  by  the  Trans-Siberian 
railway.  Russia  seems  to  be  the  universal  heir 
of  all  the  dead  kingdoms  in  the  East." 

We  struck  out  boldly  across  the  great  valley, 
and  soon  came  in  sight  of  a  few  dirty  huts. 

"  Rain,  varied  with  snow  and  sleet,  makes  this 
Eastern  land  desolate,"  remarked  the  Captain. 
11  There  are  dense  woods  in  the  interior,  but  no 
roads  to  provide  these  people  with  fuel,  and  the  coal, 
gold,  silver,  lead,  and  copper  will  be  reaped  by  the 
hardy  Muscovite  later.  Here  is  a  land  with  a  dark 
blank  of  a  thousand  years'  drift  backward  to  bar- 
barism !  Chinese,  Tartar,  Japanese,  and  Mongol 
have  scourged  Corea  till  its  human  wheat  has  been 
threshed  out  and  only  the  chaff  remains.  The 
women  are  destitute  of  every  art,  the  priests  beat 
upon  tomtoms  to  exorcise  the  devil  of  sickness, 
and  a  frank  and  besotted  immorality  governs  the 
rude  communities.  I  know  of  no  hope  for  Corea 
but  the  red  ploughshare  of  the  conqueror." 

Skirting  the  bare  hillocks,  hurrying  along  to  the 
northern  side  of  the  watercourse,  I  began  to  watch 
for  game,  tired  of  the  cheerless  natural  prospects. 
It  was  as  wild  as  the  moors  of  Kerguelen  land, 


A    IP    VI      IN     <  OKI  \ 

and  I  wondered  if  any  of  the   huge  felines  (A  tin- 
Tiger    mountain    were    hovering    in     t he    lonely 
gullies. 
Suddenly,  I   caught  sight    of  a  broken-down 

shrine,  and  far  below  on  the  growing  stream,  a  sort 
of  rude  mill  with  stacks  of  rice  paddy.  We  cir- 
cled away  to  avoid  the  rude  villagers  and  to  rouse 
up  some  stray  game. 

"There's  a  splendid  black  fox,"  whispered 
Meeker;  "shoot  him  with  your  rifle  barrel!"  I 
drew  a  bead  as  the  beautiful  animal  turned  his 
head  toward  us.  The  rifle  rang  out  and  the  ani- 
mal rolled  over  dead,  but,  the  most  unearthly 
screams  rose  up  from  the  vicinity  of  the  dead 
animal ! 

"  That  skin  is  worth  a  good  hundred  dollars," 
cried  Meeker,  as  we  ran  forward  to  observe  the 
cause  of  all  the  outcry. 

Alas  !  for  our  peace  of  mind  !  There  wfas  a  hud- 
dled Corean  village  in  a  glen  near  by,  and  from  it 
was  now  issuing  a  mob  of  yelling  fanatics.  An  old 
crone  was  wildly  urging  them  on.  The  rifle  shot 
had  evidently  frightened  her  into  hysterics. 

But,  the  harm  was  done.  The  foreigners  had 
been  seen  and  recognized  !  We  were  fifteen  miles 
from  the  shore  and  a  good  five  miles  from  the  bend 
where  the  boat  with  its  dozen  sturdy  sail 
awaited  us  at  the  big  bend  of  the  river.  The  first 
pattering  drops  of  rain  were  falling  as  Meeker 
cried,  "Follow  me  quickly  and  quietly.  They 
will  stone  us  to  death  if  they  catch  us!  " 


I70  A   HUNT    IN    COREA 

And,  with  the  Scotsman  in  the  lead,  we  com- 
menced an  energetic  retreat  trying  to  double  and 
elude  our  pursuers.  1  had  heard  of  the  genial 
pleasures  of  the  Coreans,  who  often,  from  sheer 
ennui,  form  in  two  clans  and  stone  each  other  until 
the  ground  is  covered  with  senseless  victims. 

The  sharp  missiles  began  to  fall  unreasonably 
close  to  us,  and  the  yelling  mob  increased  as  we 
dashed  along  past  several  other  hamlets.  1  could 
see  that  Meeker  was  studying  the  topography  of 
the  valley. 

"  We  must  not  get  into  the  rice  fields  and  be 
bogged  down  !  "  he  cried.  "  Don't  you  fire.  Leave 
that  to  me  and  keep  the  pistols  to  the  last !  " 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  determination  of 
the  rude  mob  to  punish  us  a  routrance.  Then  the 
showers  of  stones  became  thicker,  the  yells  fiercer, 
and  we  began  to  lose  breath. 

It  was  in  a  pouring  rain  that  the  Scotch  Captain 
at  last  turned  and  fired  one  barrel  of  his  fowling- 
piece  just  over  the  heads  of  the  nearest  pursuers. 

We  gained  five  hundred  yards  before  they  took 
courage  to  come  on  again,  but  the  gathering  mob 
resolutely  set  out  across  the  valley  to  cut  us  off, 
realizing  that  to  return  to  Gensan  we  must  cross 
the  one  stone  bridge  over  the  river  which  was 
practicable  to  lead  us  into  town. 

The  canny  Scot  saw  the  plot.  "  They  have  no 
firearms,"  he  said.  "  They  evidently  want  to 
raise  a  mob  and  blockade  that  bridge  so  that  we 
will  be  stopped  there  and  killed   with   clubs  or 


A    HUNT    IN    COREA  '  7  I 


stones  in  the  night,  when  we  cannot  -  ihoot 

I  will  fool  them  !  " 
And  as  the  sullen  rain  fell  cheerlessly  and  the 

evening  shadows  begun  to  lower,  we  marched  de- 
fiantly  along    down    the   valley   in   the    general 

direction  of  the  gray  stone  bridge  whose  pointed 
arch  we  could  see  gleaming  out  a  couple  of  miles 
away.     The  gathering  cloud  of  our  pursuers  grew 

denser,  and  while  the   main  body  marched  along 
to  bar  our  way  at   the  bridge,  our  only  seemi 
means  of  escape,  a  dozen  fellows  struck  out  quar- 
tering toward   us,  and   1  could  see  the  gleam    of 
bush-cutters  or  bill-hooks  on  their  should 

It  was  now,  indeed,  a  hunt  in  Corea  !  We  were 
the  hunted  fugitives,  and  I  noted  that  this  flying 
wedge  seemed  determined  to  bar  our  way  by  ad- 
vancing diagonally  across  our  downward  path. 

Captain  Meeker's  brow  was  stern  as  he  held  his 
No.  12  gauge  gun  down,  the  cold  rain  dripping 
from  its  barrels.  But  one  chance  remained  to  us 
to  avoid  slaughtering  a  few  of  the  maddened  fools. 
"  This  will  cost  me  my  position  and  the  steamer 
company  may  be  forbidden  to  land,"  growled 
Meeker.  "  We  must  not  kill  any  of  these  fellows, 
at  least,  not  till  we  get  near  to  our  boat.  As  soon 
as  we  get  past  this  mill,  we  can  see  the  bend,  and 
if  the  fields  are  clear,  we  can  fool  them.  They 
will  keep  inside  of  us,  and  we  can  make  a  last  run 
to  the  boat.  They  will  never  know  who  we  are.  it 
we  can  slip  down  stream." 

The  pioneer   guard  of   the  chattering  and    vin- 


172  A    HUNT    IN    COREA 

dictive  crew  had  worked  so  near  to  me  that  1 
feared  the  use  of  the  Manchurian  bow  and  arrow. 
And,  men  who  can  shoot  through  a  tiger  could 
easily  spit  me  on  their  four-foot  copper-pointed 
shafts. 

Having  had  some  practice  in  creasing  hares  on 
the  Texas  frontier,  I  carefully  sent  a  .577  Boxer 
ball  whizzing  about  six  inches  over  the  heads  of 
the  bill-hook  carriers.  I  was  careful  to  see  that 
there  were  no  more  old  women  in  range.  The 
whole  band  dropped  on  their  bellies  and  we  moved 
on,  laughing  in  spite  of  our  danger. 

We  had  a  clear  quarter  of  a  mile  to  ourselves 
when  we  approached  the  mill. 

"  I'm  going  to  rest  for  a  few  minutes,  anyway  !  " 
resolutely  cried  Meeker,  "  and,  from  that  knoll 
near  this  rice  mill,  I  can  lay  out  a  clear  course  to 
the  boat." 

We  had  so  timed  our  return  so  as  to  have  a 
chance  to  fill  the  boat  with  the  magnificent  water 
fowl  swarming  in  the  narrow  river. 

"  It's  not  over  a  mile  and  a  half  over  there," 
said  Meeker,  "  and,  when  we  get  near,  if  I  fire 
three  shots  in  rapid  succession,  my  men  will  come 
to  the  rescue.  They  all  have  a  revolver  and  a 
short  Japanese  sword.  There  are  ten  and  the 
coxswain  and  we  can  then,  whip  the  whole  town 
of  Gensan.  Let  us  put  a  bold  face  on  it!  If  there 
is  any  one  in  the  rice  mill,  who  speaks  Japanese,  I 
am  all  right." 

We  strode  up  to  the  rude    building  near   the 


A   HUNT    IN    COREA 

little  river,  and  Meeker  pushed  open  the  door. 
Our  disheveled  appearance,  the  gruns  in  our 
hands,  and  the  suddenness  of  our  entry    caused 

half  a  dozen  half-naked  Corean  women  who  u «  r< 
sacking  up    rice,  to  leap  into  the  mill  stream  and 
disappear  in  the  hollows  of  the  river  bank  beyond. 
Two  men  fled  away,  and  gathering  up  clubs  stood 
on  the  defensive. 

In  the   ten  minutes   during  which    I    stood    on 
guard,  I  saw  the  uncouth  trip  hammer  still  pound- 
ing   away   at  the  rice  paddy.      A  huge  log,  evi- 
dently a  drift  log  from  the  north,  had  been  squared 
at  one  end  and  banded  into  a  huge  hammer  head. 
Poised  at  its  middle,  the  other  end  of  the  log  was 
hollowed  into  a  huge  spoon  ;  the  water  from  the 
rude  mill  race  filling  this,  raised  the  hammer  end 
till   the   water   fell   out,  and    then,  the    machine 
dropped  with  a  bang.     With  about  three  blows  a 
minute,  this  machine  was  pounding  out  the  rice 
from  the  sheaves  thrust  under  the  hammer  by  the 
nymphs  who  had  fled.      There  was,  perhaps    a 
thousand  pounds  of  rice  in  the  whole  mill's  supply 

on  hand. 

When  Meeker  had  scrambled  down  from  his 
post  of  observation  we  cleaned  our  muddy  boots, 
regirded  ourselves,  trimmed  our  loads,  and  in  the 
dying  light,  struck  out  boldly  for  the  bend   now 

clearly  visible.  p 

-  The  boat  is  there,  thank  God  ! "  cried  the  C  ap- 
tain  "  I  can  see  the  white  flag  and  the  red  ball 
in  the  stern.     Now,  these  fellows  may  have  hidden 


174  A   HUNT    IN    COREA 

a  few  marauders  in  front  of  us.  I  have  just  four 
mustard-seed  cartridges  that  I  found  in  my 
vest  pockets.  I  have  used  them  to  knock  down 
some  pretty  plumaged  pheasants.  You  are  not  to 
shoot !  I  will  clear  the  way  with  these  four,  if  they 
try  to  stop  us.  Remember,  no  real  shooting  in 
earnest,  unless  to  save  our  lives,  and — then — back 
to  back,  and  fight  it  out ! " 

We  had  lost  our  patience,  and  could  see  the  two 
men  who  had  left  the  rice  mill  pointing  and  en- 
couraging on  our  assailants.  With  artful  skill, 
Meeker  led  me  along  the  river  bank  parallel  to  its 
course  as  if  striking  for  a  bend  below  the  place 
where  the  boat  lay.  We  were  nearly  abreast  of 
the  bend,  when  a  dozen  dark  figures  leaped  upon 
us  from  ambush.  The  Captain's  fowling  piece 
barked  twice,  and  then,  repeated  the  smarting 
dose,  while  I  stood  ready  to  fire  with  buck  and 
ball.  Several  jagged  stones  grazed  us,  but  as  we 
ran  on  we  could  hear  the  howls  of  pain  as  the 
angry  wretches  slapped  their  peppered  legs.  We 
moved  swiftly  over  the  sedgy  salt  grass,  and  to 
our  inexpressible  delight,  soon  saw  the  boatswain 
leading  on  eight  of  our  sturdy  fellows  at  a  run  to 
meet  us.  It  seemed  the  very  happiest  moment  of 
my  life  when  I  tumbled  into  the  stern  sheets  of 
the  ship's  boat ! 

There  were  none  of  the  pursuers  in  sight  as  we 
swept  along  down  the  river  under  the  propulsion 
of  ten  bending  oars.  The  Captain  steered  us  art- 
fully so  as  to  hide  us,  and,  as  we  passed  the  bend, 


A    MINI     IN    COREA 

we   could  sec  the   white,  ghostlike  tonus  <>f  the 

simple  Coreans  crowding  on  the  hank.  A  couple 
of  torches  blazed  out  behind  us  for  some  t  i inc.  and 
we  guarded  a  judicious  silence.  There  were 
several  bottles  of  warm  saki  in  the  boat,  and 
covered  with  a  dry  boat-cloak,  I  lav  at  ease,  until 
three  hours  later,  I  was  delivered  over  to  the  care 
of  the  good-humored  head  Chinese  steward  of  the 
Hiogo  Maru. 

The  town  of Gensan  was  convulsed  for  tin  re- 
mainder of  our  stay  by  the  stories  drifting  in  from 
up  the  valley  of  three  fire-breathing  devils  who  had 
attacked  the  innocent  villagers.  One  of  them  van- 
ished, turning  into  a  beautiful  dead  fox  at  the  feet  i  >t 
an  old  woman  who  had  called  on  the  sacred  nam 
of  Buddha,  and  Tao  and  Shinto,  all  in  one  breath ! 
The  other  two  "  fire  breathers"  had  spit  poison 
fire  all  over  the  boldest  of  their  pursuers,  and  then 
rushed  madly  into  the  river,  where  they  disap- 
peared in  fiery  whirlpools!  All  this  and  more  was 
reported  to  the  Corean  and  Japanese  officials,  and 
I  learned  the  lesson  for  life  of  keeping  out  of  the 
clutches  of  a  morose  mob  of  ignoramuses.  Our 
bodies  were  bruised  with  the  sharp  stones  and. 
chilled  and  sickened,  we  had  only  reaped  in  sore 
bones  and  wearied  bodies  the  useless  fruits  of  our 
hunt  in  Corea,  from  which  we  came  out  booth  — 
A  number  of  equally  innocent  foreigners  have  been 
murdered  from  time  to  time  by  the  unruly  brutal- 
ity of  this  most  unlovely  of  all  nations. 


BOY    AGAINST    GRIZZLY 

BY 

RICHARD  HENRY  SAVAGE 


I  GAVE  HIM  TWO  SHCTS  OF  THE  KEV*  LVER 


BOY  AGAINST   GRIZZLY. 


One  of  the  strangest  features  in  the  character  of 
the  grizzly  bear  of  North  America  is  his  change  of 
deportment  according  to  his  surroundings. 

"  Ursus  ferox  "  is  a  perfect  example  of  Mr.  Her- 
bert Spencer's  theory  of  "  heredity  "  and  "  en- 
vironment." This  lumbering  fellow,  usually  from 
six  to  nine  feet  in  length,  and  weighing  from  four 
hundred  to  two  thousand  pounds,  has  certain  traits 
of  heredity  —  his  gameness,  his  slyness,  and  his  well 
marked  preferences. 

"  Environment"  may  make  him  a  jolly  Friar 
Tuck  of  the  woods  or  a  crafty  "man-eater,"  hunt- 
ing the  trails  with  the  malignity  of  the  fiercest 
tiger.  In  a  well-watered  acorn  country,  and  where 
roots,  nuts,  and  succulent  bulbs  can  be  obtained, 
he  follows  a  live  and  let  live  policy.  In  dry 
localities,  like  inner  Arizona  and  the  hills  of  San 
Bernardino  county,  California,  he  becomes  a  terror 
by  day  and  night.  Under  similar  circumstances, 
the  grizzly  bear  is  far  more  formidable  than  the 
dreaded  lion,  tiger,  or  panther.  He  loses  no  heart 
at  missing  a  single  spring,  but  grimly  fights  on  to 
the  last,  especially  with  a  cub  included  in  the  game 
of  life  or  death. 


l8o  BOY    AGAINST    GRIZZLY 

I  have  seen  a  dozen  cavalrymen  "  pumping 
lead"  into  a  patch  of  bushes  where  a  grim  old  she 
bear  received  seventeen  Springfield  rifle  bullets 
before  giving  up  the  ghost.  And,  no  man  dared  to 
explore  that  bit  of  blood-stained  underbrush  ! 

Age  adds  an  extreme  ugliness  to  the  grizzly's 
"personal"  equation.  The  teeth  are  worn  off, 
the  huge  claws  and  the  death  grapple  are  relied 
on,  and  his  giant  strength  and  deadly  pluck  make 
him  a  terror  at  close  quarters. 

In  the  early  days  of  '49  to  '52,  vast  herds  of 
mustangs  roved  the  interior  plains  of  the  Sacra- 
mento and  San  Joaquin  in  California.  Huge 
droves  of  elk  commingled  with  the  "  prodigal 
sons "  of  the  Conquistadore's  chargers,  deer  in 
enormous  numbers  peacefully  grazed  with  yellow, 
flitting  bands  of  antelope,  and,  along  the  sloughs  and 
rivers,  giant  grizzlies,  then,  made  their  favorite 
haunts. 

They  loved  to  wallow  in  the  tule  marshes  and 
to  fatten  upon  the  bulbed  rushes.  Their  vegetarian 
living  led  them  away  from  flesh  seeking.  On  the 
broad  plains,  the  other  nimbler  animals  could  easily 
elude  them,  and  they  lazily  followed  up  the  count- 
less thousands  of  wild  cattle  and  sheep,  gorging 
upon  the  animals  which  dropped  from  the  herd. 

It  was  easy  for  any  one  to  avoid  this  huge,  over- 
fattened  grizzly  in  the  open  country,  and,  in  those 
days  of  single  shooters  and  half-ounce  balls,  the 
big  grizzly  of  the  plains  held  his  hide  by  "  simple 
possession." 


BOY    AGAINST    GRIZZLY  l8l 


The  expert  "  vaqueros,"  in  numbers  of  a  dozen, 
soon  gauged  the  degenerate  grizzly  of  the  plains. 
They  loved  to  lasso  him,  and,  in  open  country, 
they  were  his  masters,  mounted  on  their  quick- 
turning  lasso  horses. 

But,  a  change  came !  The  steamboats  soon 
puffed  up  through  Stockton  slough,  the  plains 
were  appropriated,  and  Ursus  ferox,  driven  to  the 
most  worthless  mountain  ranges,  became  a  robber 
by  day,  a  sly  thief  by  night,  and  his  habits  sensibly 
changed  in  ferocity.  It  was  a  "  black  flag  "  and 
no  quarter  for  those  who  met  him  on  the  trail. 
The  coast  range,  the  lower  Sierra  Nevadas,  and 
the  southern  chapparal  hills  became  his  home, 
and  he  changed  his  bill  of  fare,  often  through  ne- 

cessity. 

Though  his  cousins,  the  "  silver  tip,"  the  "  cinna- 
mon," his  northern  relative,  the  polar  bear,  are 
game  enough,  they  have  not  the  grim  dash  of  the 
big  grizzly,  whose  "  hereditary  "  courage  vainly 
struggles  against  the  newer  "environment"  of 
explosive  bullets,  multicharge  repeating  rifles,  and 
the  heavy  modern  cartridge.  In  these  piping 
days  of  amateur  bear  slayers,  the  grizzly's  chance 
is  reduced  to  that  of  the  individual  stockholder 
fighting  a  powerful  syndicate:  he  is  doomed  from 

the  first ! 

In  the  old  days,  a  pack  of  cur  dogs  was  the 
only  aid  to  the  real  frontier  bear  hunter,  these 
useful  auxiliaries  gaining  time  for  the  hunter  to 
reload,  or  gain  a  tree  to  readjust  his  batteries. 


1 82  BOY    AGAINST    GRIZZLY 

Only  real  huntsmen  can  appreciate  the  wonder- 
ful development  of  the  offensive  weapons  of  man 
in  the  last  forty  years.  From  the  single  shot 
muzzle-loading  rifle  with  its  half-ounce  ball  and 
absurdly  light  powder  charge,  to  the  Winchester 
express,  or  the  thousand-yard  Sharp,  the  develop- 
ment is  as  marked  as  the  difference  between 
Columbus's  three  caravels  and  the  Paris,  St.  Paul, 
and  New  York. 

In  the  olden  days,  the  "  honors  were  easy,"  and 
now,  the  chances  are  decidedly  "  agin  the  b'ar," 
unless  the  hunter  becomes  paralyzed  with  fear  or 
his  walking  "  machine  shop  "  refuses  to  work.  It  is 
doubtful  if  any  of  the  young  "  cannons  "  used  by 
British  sportsmen  against  "  rhino,"  elephant,  and 
giraffe  have  ever  been  used  in  America,  nor  even 
the  almost  faultless  double-barreled  express  rifles 
with  independent  locks.  The  last  are  powerful 
enough  to  kill  anything  that  moves,  and  the 
chances  of  a  sudden  breakdown  are  almost  elimi- 
nated. 

The  Spencer,  Hotchkiss,  Remington,  and  the 
army  Springfield  rifle  in  the  hands  of  a  cool  man 
are  "  deadly  weapon  "  enough  to  kill  anything  on 
the  American  continent,  save  a  veteran  book 
agent. 

The  effect  of  "  environment  "  upon  "  Mr.Grizily 
of  California  "  was  demonstrated  in  the  forty  days' 
flood  and  three  months'  storm  of  "  sixty-two," 
which  reduced  California  to  an  inland  sea,  and  drove 
the  wild  animals  of  the  Coast  range  and  Serrias 


BOY    AGAINST    GRIZZLY  1 83 

down  into  the  foot  hills,  starving  and  abnormally 
ferocious. 

The  smaller  animals  perished  by  myriads,  the 
deer  died  by  thousands,  their  drenched  and 
weakened  carcasses  being  unfit  for  food.  Grass, 
nuts,  acorns,  the  winter  housekeeping  stores  of 
the  denizens  of  the  woods,  were  rotted,  swept 
away,  or  covered  up  in  the  uprooted  forests. 
Whole  areas  of  pines  and  redwoods  thundered 
into  ravine  and  canyon  and  the  "  clearing  house  " 
of  Nature  was  busied  for  several  seasons. 

It  was  at  my  boyhood  residence  on  the  Soquel 
Creek  in  Santa  Cruz  County,  in  the  afflicted  Gold- 
en State,  that,  almost  under  my  eye,  a  California 
boy  fought  out,  alone,  a  vendetta  with  a  "  three- 
star"  grizzly.     .     .     . 

During-  the  terrible  visitation,  Morris  White,  a 
determined-looking  Pike  County  youth,  had  housed 
in  an  upland  field,  his  entire  store  of  worldly 
wealth,  a  yoke  of  splendid  oxen.  There  was  store 
of  hay  in  the  squatter's  barns,  and,  in  the  rear- 
rangement of  the  "wreck  of  matter  and  the  crush 
of  worlds,"  the  young  Missourian  and  his  oxen 
were  wrorth  ten  dollars  a  day,  either  to  the  county 
or  the  owners  of  the  sawmills  about  "  resuming 
operations,"  after  the  flood.  The  particular  mills 
I  referred  to,  sawed  away  for  two  years  on  timber 
which  had  been  hurled  down  the  loosened  and 
quaking  mountain  sides  almost  to  the  very  car- 
riages of  the  gleaming  "  double  circulars." 

As  the  oxen  furnished  the  "  pull,"  and  Morris 


184  BOY    AGAINST    GRIZZLY 

White  oniy  the  "  generalship,"  by  the  liberal  use 
of  the  ox  gad,  the  young  man  counting  off  the 
days  at  an  eagle  per  day,  was  rapidly  becoming  a 
capitalist. 

At  night,  his  "Dime"  and  "Baldy"  were  se- 
curely garnered  up  within  an  impregnable  corral 
surrounding  the  delta  of  the  junction  of  two  creeks 
where  the  mills  were  located.  Into  this  inclosure, 
a  ridge,  too  steep  for  any  hoofed  animal,  ran 
and  formed  a  sort  of  nether  rampart.  It  was 
a  pleasant  dawn  of  day  in  later  April,  when  the 
lank  Missourian,  with  the  yoke  already  resting  on 
"  Baldy's "  neck,  loudly  called  for  "  Dime  "  to 
join  his  mate  under  the  yoke.  There  was  the  soft 
bed  where  the  yoke  fellows  had  rested,  and  the 
youthful  contractor,  ox  bow  in  hand,  skirmished 
around  for  the  other  half  of  his  worldly  fortune. 

An  extended  search  where  a  clump  of  enormous 
trees  braced  up  the  spinal  ridge,  showed  to  the 
astounded  Pike  County  lad  the  carcass  of  the  non- 
appearing  "  Dime."  The  story  told  itself.  There 
lay  the  poor  animal,  its  neck  broken  with  a  terrific 
blow,  and  the  head  turned  under !  A  considerable 
anatomical  disappearance  on  the  brisket  and 
foreshoulder  told  that  the  "  red  slayer"  had  made 
a  satisfactory  meal. 

The  woodsmen  of  the  camp  were  called  into 
council  and  Morris,  himself,  a  mighty  hunter  for 
one  so  youthful,  swore  oaths  which  set  the  balmy 
morning  air  tingling.  There  was  the  twelve-inch 
track,  the  great  spread-out   hand,  and   the  long 


BOY    AGAINST    GRIZZLY  1 85 

he^rv  heel.  It  was  Mr.  Grizzly,  who  had  sidled 
alone:  down  the  mountains,  and  scenting  the  warm- 
blooded prey,  with  one  blow  of  its  mighty  paw  had 
laid  out  poor  "  Dime,"  forever. 

In  one  fell  swoop,  he  had  paralyzed  White's 
engineering  operations.  Oxen  were  as  gold  and 
diamonds  in  those  days,  and  "  Baldy "  and 
"  Dime  "  were  cases  of  the  survival  of  the  fittest ! 
The  chance  that  any  other  neighbor  would  break 
up  a  span  of  well  broken  oxen  to  fill  the  half- 
empty  yoke  was  a  slender  one.  The  one-half  of  his 
team  would  either  be  useless  or  be  sacrificed  to 
some  thrifty  bargainer,  while  he  himself  must  ex- 
change "  generalship,"  for  a  more  active  means  of 
making  a  living. 

He  had  followed  his  fearless  old  father  down  the 
Platte  four  years  before,  and  as  that  old  frontier 
warrior  put  it,  "had  fit  the  painted  Injins  in  the 
Bad  Lands."  They  had  buried  one  or  two  of  the 
Whites  in  that  long  drag  from  "  St.  Jo  "  to  Fort 
Bridger,  then  on  to  Salt  Lake,  down  the  Hum- 
boldt, and  standing  off  fierce  Cheyenne,  murderous 
Sioux,  and  thieving  Ute,  had  "  pre-empted  "  a  very 
large  and  lightly  held  domain  in  Santa  Cruz 
County. 

Familiar  with  attempted  stampede  and  derisive 
scalp  yell,  nerved  by  standing  guard  and  "  pot 
shots  "  from  the  wagon  square  at  the  saucy  nomads 
of  the  plains,  Morris  White  swore  a  deadly  ven- 
geance against  the  grizzly  who  had  laid  out  the 
"  Benjamin  "  of  his  small  flock.     "  Dime  "  was  an 


1 86  BOY    AGAINST    GRIZZLY 

ox  of  many  engaging  qualities,  and  he  represented 
the  "  unearned  increment "  of  the  Pike  County 
boy's  fortunes.  With  "  Dime,"  fortune  flowed  in 
upon  him  ;  without  him,  the  contracting  business 
was  a  failure,  and,  it  would  take  nearly  a  hundred 
dollars  to  replace  the  departed  one. 

The  day  passed  with  Morris  White  gloomily  in- 
specting the  scene  of  the  disaster.  An  absence  of 
two  or  three  hours  enabled  him  to  place  "  Baldy  " 
under  the  charge  of  one  of  his  brothers,  with  a 
consolatory  arrangement  that  the  ox  should  be 
"  worked  on  shares." 

And  then,  having  gathered  up  what  little  armory 
he  could  procure,  the  defiant  young  Missourian 
laid  away  his  yokes  and  chains  until  he  should 
have  done  battle  with  "  that  there  b'ar,"  as  he 
scornfully  termed  him,  with  two  extremely  clench- 
ing defamatory  words  interjected  between  the 
words  "  there  "  and  "  b'ar." 

One  of  the  head  sawyers  strolled  over  before 
sundown  and  found  that  the  lad  had  bored  several 
holes  into  a  soft  fir  tree  about  fifteen  feet  from  the 
ground.  With  strong  oaken  sticks,  well  wedged 
in,  he  had  made  the  foundation  for  a  platform  com- 
posed of  two  eight-inch  boards  six  feet  long  and 
lashed  to  the  supporting  sticks. 

A  can  of  water  and  a  bag  of  saleratus  biscuits, 
with  some  cold  fried  bacon,  were  his  rations,  and 
his  offensive  weapons  consisted  of  an  old  Missis- 
sippi muzzle-loader,  a  German  horseman's  carbine 
of  unearthly  appearance,  and  a  battered  six- 
shooter. 


BOY    AGAINST    GRIZZLY  1 87 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  propose  to  kill  that 
bear  with  that  rig,"  cried  the  astonished  lumber- 
man. 

"  It's  him  or  me  !  "  sullenly  replied  Morris.  4<  He 
has  busted  up  my  business  just  as  I  struck  the  first 
streak  of  luck  in  my  life,  and  I'll  get  him,  or  he'll 
get  me." 

"  I'm  afraid  he'll  get  you,  Morris,"  said  the 
kindly  visitor.  "  You'll  get  tired,  and  fall  off  your 
perch." 

"  I  reckon  not,"  grinned  Morris,  showing  two 
horse  shoes  which  he  had  heated,  drawn  out, 
and  driven  into  the  tree  up  to  the  heads.  "  There  ! 
With  them  two  horse-shoe  clamps  and  a  lariat  tied 
around  my  waist  run  through  the  eyes,  I  can't  fall 
off." 

Big  Jim  Hall  was  agnostic.  "  The  bear  may 
come  up  to  you  !  If  he  pulls  your  whole  rig  down, 
where  are  you  ?  " 

"  He  won't  get  to  me,"  doggedly  answered  the 
boy.     "  I'll  be  getting  to  him,  all  the  time." 

And  so,  at  evening  fall,  the  millmen  helped  to 
place  the  lad  in  position,  perched  up  where  he 
would  have  a  good  view  of  the  remains  of  "  Dime," 
and  a  chance  to  even  up.  The  fifty  men  at  the 
mill  agreed  to  chip  in  a  dollar  apiece  if  the  invader 
were  really  slain.  "  That's  half  an  ox,"  hopefully 
said  Morris.  "  And,  I'll  get  the  rest  of  the  money 
outen  the  b'ar." 

The  lad  had  smeared  the  tree  and  his  trail  with 
the  lights  and   stomach   offal   of   the  dead  ox  to 


1 88  BOY    AGAINST    GRIZZLY 

obliterate  any  human  scent.  He  hung  on  his  un- 
comfortable perch  for  two  weary  nights  without 
result,  and,  during  the  day,  he  began  to  run  the 
gauntlet  of  many  jokes. 

But  a  few  squatters  were  attracted  by  the  boy's 
venture,  and  one  of  them,  who  had  notches  on  his 
rifle  and  six-shooter  for  men,  as  well  as  "  b'ar  "  and 
"  bison,"  with  "  elk  "  and  "  panther"  to  match, 
sagely  observed :  "  A  grizzly  always  gorges  and 
comes  back  when  his  prey  is  a  little  gamey.  That 
b'ar  will  soon  be  along."  And,  in  support  of -his 
theory,  he  begged  the  boon  of  the  one  decent  shoot- 
ing-iron in  the  gulch,  the  six-shooting  Colt's  rifle, 
which  was  our  local  pride. 

"  I'll  pay  for  the  gun  if  anything  happens  to  it. 

I  want  the  boy  to  have  a  show  as  well  as  the  b'ar. 
I'm  somehow  doubtful  of  that  rig  of  his."  And  he 
made  some  slugs  of  preternatural  hardness,  and 
most  carefully  heavily  charged  the  six  barrels  of 
the  revolving  rifle — "  plum  up,"  as  he  pithily 
put  it. 

The  third  night  of  Morris  White's  vigil  was 
dark  and  chill;  the  wind  sighed  through  the  pines, 
and  a  knot  of  wiseacres  sat  around  the  great  fire 
in  the  log  cabin  and  "  arguefied  "  upon  the  chances. 

II  There's  been  so  many  human  footprints  around 
that  the  "b'ar"  is  grown  suspicious,"  said  one. 
"  Mayn't  been  a  b'ar — a  panther,"  said  another. 
"  There's  the  tracks,  and  the  way  he  wuz  killed," 
lucidly  rejoined  another.  "  He's  sure  to  come 
back — and — get  the  boy,  too,"  said  old  Uncle  Able, 


BOY    AGAINST    GRIZZLY  1 89 

who  had  been  a  trapper  of  might  in  his  younger  days. 
"  The  boy's  foolhardy.  What  could  we  do  to  help 
him  ?  "  It  was  only  two  hundred  yards  over  the 
ridge,  and  three  hundred  around  the  point,  to 
where  the  determined  lad  was  keeping  his  lonely 

vigil. 

I  had  myself  eyed  him  as  one  who  begs  that  his 
name  will  be  put  down  first  in  a  list  for  a  Bala- 
clava charge,  or  any  useless  personal  feat,  but,  late 
that  night,  I  lay  and  listened  to  the  song  of  the 
pines.  The  wild  forest  was  vocal,  and  the  purest 
air  on  earth  was  sweeping  down  the  terrific  rocky 
gorges  of  Williams  Creek.  I  had  apparently 
ignored  a  remark  made  by  Eben  Wright, 
"  There's  nothing  to  prevent  the  '  b'ar '  coming  in 
here,  if  he  wants  to."  That  hospitable  cabin  door 
was  never  locked  for  ten  years  !  I  indulged  "  a 
pleasing  hope,"  however,  that  the  "  b'ar  "  would 
prefer  the  remains  of  "Dime'  to  our  party  in  the 
cabin. 

I  sprang  to  my  feet  in  the  gloomy  hours  before 
dawn  as  a  heavy  rifle-shot  rang  out,  seemingly  at 
my  side,  and,  while  the  men  sprang  to  their  feet, 
another  and  another  sounded,  the  last  two  so  near 
to  each  other  that  they  seemed  to  be  one  report, 
and,  then  came  a  dead  silence.  It  was  broken  by 
an  unearthly  yell,  fully  up  to  the  standard  later  set 
for  me  by  the  Apaches  and  Sioux,  pastmasters  of 
all  vocal  arts. 

It  was  old  Uncle  Able  who  dashed  to  the  dy- 
ing fire  and  seized  a  burning  brand.     "  Let's  all 


190  BOY    AGAINST    GRIZZLY 

go  over,  men,  and  see  what's  happened  !  "  There 
was  a  repetition  of  the  yell,  and  two  quick  shots, 
evidently  from  the  revolver. 

"The  b'ar's  got  him,  sure  enough,"  cried  Eben 
Wright,  as  he  grasped  a  brand,  and  said  :  "  I'm 
one  to  go,  who  else  ?"  Then,  we  all  realized  that 
there  was  not  a  weapon  on  the  place  but  a  little 
unloaded  pistol  and  a  broken-down  shot-gun. 
The  party  assembled  in  front  of  the  cabin.  There 
was  a  dead  silence,  broken  only  by  the  sighing  of 
the  pines,  but,  as  we  moved  forward  to  go  around 
the  road  to  the  point,  whirling  the  blazing 
brands,  something  sped  up  from  the  rear  of  the 
corral !  It  was  Morris  White — hatless,  breathless, 
and,  as  was  described  later,  on  the  dead  jump 
like  a  scared  coyote  ! 

We  dragged  him  into  the  cabin,  and  candles 
were  the  order  of  the  growing  day.  One  man 
produced  a  drop  of  whisky,  and  then,  the  youth 
threw  himself  into  a  rough  chair  and  passed  his 
hands  aimlessly  through  his  hair.  His  revolver 
was  dangling  by  a  thong  and  also  his  hunting  knife. 

"  What's  happened  to  you  ?  What's  come  of  the 
bear?"   an    excited    chorus    cried. 

"  He's  over  there,  chuck  full  of  lead,  I  hope — 
dern  him  !"  growled  Morris,  as  he  picked  up  his 
dangling  knife  and  pistol.  His  face  was  bleeding 
from  the  effects  of  a  fall. 

"Tell    us   the   whole   story?"    growled    "old 

Uncle"   Able.     "Did   he   get  away  from  you?" 

'  No.   I  got  away  from  him  !    He's  big  as  a  house 


BOY    AGAINST    GRIZZLY  191 

— too!"  angrily  cried  l:ic  Pike  County  lad.  "I 
was  half  asleep,  chilled  and  cold,  when  he  come  a 
tumblin'  and  a  snortin'  down  the  hillside.  He 
nozed  around  ugly,  and  snuffed  all  over  poor 
4  Dime.'  Then,  he  gave  him  one  wipe  with  his 
paw  and  turned  him  over,  as  if  he  was  a  dead 
coyote.  I  waited  till  I  got  a  good  aim,  and  let 
him  have  it.  And,  then  he  made  straight  for  that 
tree.  He  roared  and  got  his  claws  in  the  cracks  01 
the  fine  bark  and  started  to  comin'  up.  I  fired 
twice  plump  into  his  breast,  and  I  lost  my  nerve, 
when  I  seed  him  so  near  me  by  the  flash  of  the 
gun,  and,  then,  I  dropped  my  rifle  ! " 

"He  was  growlin'  and  groanin'  awful,  and  he 
started  a-comin'  up  again,  and  then  I  hollered.  I 
give  him  two  shots  of  the  revolver  right  in  his 
mouth,  and  then,  with  one  swing  of  his  claw,  he 
carried  off  the  whole  staging. 

"  There  I  was  left  hanging  on  the  lariat,  and  I 
couldn't  reach  the  pistol  I  had  dropped,  but,  it  was 
tied  in  my  belt. 

"  I  swung  over,  head  down,  and  began  to  choke, 
and, when  I  heard  the  bear  a-wallowin' around  down 
in  the  creek,  I  cut  the  lariat  with  my  knife,  and 
down  kerchunk  I  come.  See  here  !  1  ran  down  back 
into  the  corral,  and  fell  over  a  dozen  stumps,  but 
here  I  am !  He  didn't  get  very  far.  In  the 
mornin',  I'll  get  Pop's  hounds  and  find  him.  He's 
mortal  badly  wounded !  "  There  was  a  grim 
silence  as  the  defiant  Pike  County  lad  glared  at  his 
audience.     "Most  of  you   all,   told   me  a  grizzly 


192  BOY    AGAINST    GRIZZLY 

couldn't  climb !  This  one  could,  you  bet  your  life  ! 
It  was  only  the  third  rifle  shot  that  laid  him  out, 
somewhat." 

In  the  early  dawn,  we  visited  the  scene,  and  from 
a  safe  distance,  observed  the  body  of  the  slain 
"ox"  pulled  around  as  described.  Morris  White's 
perch  was  dangling  from  one  stick  still  wedged 
in  the  breast  of  the  pine.  The  rifle  lay  there  at 
the  foot  of  the  tree. 

The  torrents  of  blood  staining  the  silver  gray 
bark  of  the  pine  led  to  a  trail  ending  in  the  bushes 
near  the  little  creek.  It  was  Morris  White  who 
had  caught  up  the  rifle  and  ran  up  the  steep  hill- 
side. "  Hold  on,  all !"  he  yelled,  and  then,  he  sent 
a  ball  whizzing  down  into  the  rushes.  "  He's  dead 
as  a  mackerel !"  the  delighted  lad  cried,  and  we 
were  soon  gathered  around  the  gaunt  carcass. 
The  Missouri  lad  had  reached  him  every  time ! 

And,  now,  came  setttling  day  !  The  fifty-dollar 
subscription,  twenty-five  dollars  for  the  skin, 
twenty-five  dollars  from  the  nearest  Chinese  for 
the  gall,  and  thirty  dollars  for  the  meat  and  fat, 
enabled  the  youth  to  replace  the  lamented  "  Dime  " 
and  have  a  small  surplus.  "  But,"  he  frankly  de- 
clared himself,  "  I  ain't  a-huntin'  no  grizzly  bar 
any  more.  This  fellow  was  a  nine-hundred  pounder, 
and,  a  leetle  too  big  for  me !" 


WHY  THE   MAIL  CAME   LATE 


BY 


RICHARD  HENRY  SAVAGE 


M 


^tt^^ 


HE   SAW   TWO    OR   THREE   BUSHY   HEADS 


WHY  THE  MAIL  CAME  LATE. 


One  of  the  most  unwelcome  stations  in  the 
West  at  the  close  of  the  war,  was  the  territory  of 
Arizona.  The  civil  government  was  almost  pow- 
erless, and  the  murderous  Apaches  held  the  whole 
interior.  The  unorganized  territory  was  sparse!  v 
settled,  and  Camp  Grant,  Camp  Apache,  Camp 
McDowell,  Camp  Whipple,  and  Camp  Mohave 
were  the  only  strongly  held  points  in  the  Land  ot 
Gold  and  Blood,  with  Fort  Yuma,  on  the  Colora- 
do River,  as  the  base  of  supplies.  There  were 
but  two  towns,  Prescott  and  Tucson,  of  any  m. 
nitude. 

The  mails  and  army  supplies,  forwarded  by 
steamer  via  the  Gulf  of  California  to  Fort  Yuma. 
were  transported  at  enormous  expense  over  the 
old  Southern  Overland  Mail  Route. 

One  of  the  bright  ideas  of  the  Confederate 
leaders  had  been  to  incite  the  Indians  of  the 
Northern  plains  to  break  up  the  Northern  Over- 
land Mails  to  the  Pacific  Coast,  and,  in  the  fall  oi 
'61  and  spring  of '62,  the  Texan  cavalry  swept  along 
from  Texas  and  New  Mexico,  over  the  southern 
route, through  Arizona  to  Antelope  Pcak,<  >nly  sixty 
miles  from  the  Pacific  Ocean,  at  the  nearest  point 


196  WHY    THE    MAIL    CAME    LATE 

of  the  Gulf  of  Mexico.  There  is  a  tradition  that  a 
few  hardy  Texan  Confederates  rode  over  to  the 
seashore,  and  dipped  their  flags  in  the  waters  of 
the  western  ocean.  I  climbed  Antelope  Peak, 
nine  hundred  feet,  to  see  the  stump  of  the  mast, 
on  which  they  left  the  stars  and  bars  flying  defi- 
antly when  they  retired  before  Carleton's  com- 
mand, first  burning  and  plundering  all  the  mail 
stations. 

From  sixty-five  to  sixty-eight,  the  commanders  of 
the  army  posts  named  above,  were  the  conservators 
of  all  law  and  order.  Backed  up  by  six  or  eight 
companies  of  mixed  infantry  and  cavalry  at  each 
post,  they  kept  the  roads  open,  escorted  trains, 
guarded  the  mails,  and  moved  on  the  civilians 
who  were  forced  to  travel. 

The  troops  were  partly  reliable  regular  regi- 
ments, and  others,  filled  up  with  the  riff-raff  scatter- 
ing westward  after  the  war.  Guerrillas,  deserters, 
marauders,  and  all  manner  of  Ishmaelites  swarmed 
from  El  Paso  to  Fort  Yuma,  and  a  "  trial  of  title 
by  force,"  usually  followed  the  possession  of  use- 
ful plunder.  The  Apaches,  posted  on  high 
ground,  narrowly  watched  the  sending  out  of 
heavy  scouts,  and,  signaling  all  over  by  mountain 
fires,  then  incited  the  fierce  Hualapais  and  others 
to  harry  the  weakened  garrisons.  Artillery  was 
useless,  the  men  suffered  from  chills  and  fever, 
they  became  dejected  and  deserted,  and  the  hum- 
ble potato  (when  canned  and  desiccated)  alone 
kept  off  deadly  scurvy.     The  officers  and  troops 


why    THE    mail   CAME    LAI  B  197 

were  paid  in  currency,  only  available  at  sixty 
cents,  and  a  gentle  admixture  of  grinding  poverty 
varied  the  lives  of  men  fairly  certain  of  being 
scalped  some  day. 

Camp  McDowell,  a  strong  post  on  a  mountain 
near  the  juncture  of  the  \'erde  and  Salt  River, 
was  the  link  connecting  Prescott  and  Fort  Whipple 
with  the  blazing  cremation  post  of  Fort  Yuma. 

An  ugly  canyon  some    twenty   miles   long  led 
down  past  the  Salt  River  and  Superstition  Moun- 
tains toward  Maricopa  Wells,  and  this  region  v. 
haunted  by  the    wild    Apache    bucks    from    tour 
counties — Graham,  Gila,  Pinal,  and  Maricopa. 

This  mail  route  from  Camp  McDowell  to  Mari- 
copa Wells  intersected  the  line  of  the  buckboard 
express  flying  on,  never  halting  day  or  night,  from 
Fort  Yuma  to  Tucson.  This  line  rested  somewhat 
upon  the  settled  Gila,  the  friendly  Indians  along 
its  banks  keeping  the  Apaches  north,  but,  after  the 
Pima  villages  were  passed,  the  buckboard  express 
always  faced  dangers  similar  to  McDowell  canyon 
in  the  graveyard  defile  of  the  Picacho,  along  the 
Santa  Cruz  River  to  Tucson.  On  both  wings  of 
the  route,  intelligent  marauders  awaited  to  murder 
the  mail-carriers  when  any  unusually  valuable 
mail  or  remittances  were  in  transit,  and  the  tree- 
masonry  of  crime  seems  to  warn  all  evil-doers  in 
advance  of  the  tempting  plunder.  Trams,  pay- 
masters' escorts,  wagon  outfits,  express  ridei 
had  been  systematically  entrapped  tor  years  in  a 
land  admirablv  laid  out  for  villain  v. 


lgS  WHY    THE    MAIL    CAME    LATE 

The  condition  of  affairs  was  almost  desperate  in 
eighteen  sixty-eight,  when  I  was  serving  with  a 
small  command  in  these  murder  pens,  wondering 
whether  desperate  marauders  or  sly  Indians 
would  have  the  honor  of  my  taking  off !  There 
were  wistful  farewells  when  any  one  fared  forth 
upon  a  journey,  especially  when  the  troops  were 
scouting,  for  the  deadly  villains,  red  and  white, 
pressed  closer  then  to  all  the  important  places  left 
weakened.  And,  the  strange  lottery  of  life,  the  doc- 
trine of  chances !  I  was  witness  of  a  timid  New 
York  bride,  leaving  luxury  in  New  York  to  travel 
safely  over  the  wildest  scenes  of  Arizona  with  a 
strangely  reckless  young  husband,  the  surrender 
of  a  dog  tent  to  them,  with  a  couch  of  river 
rushes  on  the  insect-infested  sands,  being  accepted 
as  Arabian  hospitality,  capped  with  beans,  bacon, 
hard-tack,  and  muddy  coffee.  So  far  will  love, 
mighty  love,  blind  the  children  of  Cupid !  These 
amiable  infant  tenderfeet  could  have  crossed  the 
plains  alone  in  safety,  I  am  sure,  and  the  same 
season,  near  me,  a  gallant  officer,  the  hero  of  a  score 
of  desperate  Indian  fights,  was  instantly  killed  by 
one  random  shot  fired  by  a  good-natured  but 
drunken  Indian. 

My  other  guest,  in  that  dog  tent,  and  centipede 
and  tarantula-infested  shakedown,  was  a  brilliant 
young  officer,  who  closed  three  years  of  desperate 
service,  fighting  the  mad  Apaches,  to  take  a  gilded 
staff  appointment  in  the  Department  of  Oregon. 
He  rode  down  through  the  Picacho,  a  revolver  in 


WHY     III  E    MAIL  CA  I  B 

each  hand,  the  wild  steeds  dashing  along  under  a 
scattering  Apache  fire,  to  reach  me  at  Sweetwater 

in  safety. 

"  I  am  now  safe.  I  have  passed  all  my  dangers, " 
he  said,  in  bidding  me  "  adieu."  "I  have  earned 
a  safe  place — I  shall  be  married  in  the  sprin. 
And,  as  I  divided  my  slender  store  with  him,  and 
he  showed  me,  proudly,  the  pictured  (ace  oi  a 
beautiful  girl,  neither  he  nor  I  knew  that  the 
Apache  bullets  were  never  cast  to  kill  him  ;  but 
that  he  was  on  his  way  to  die  like  a  dog,  beside 
his  gallant  General,  and  be  scalped  by  the  cowardly 
Modoc  brutes,  two  thousand  miles  away. 

It  was  written  in  the  stars!  In  a  desperate  fight 
that  season  in  the  Picacho  canyon,  where  twenty- 
seven  men  were  murdered  by  the  Apaches,  the 
only  survivor  was  an  eleven-year-old  Mexican 
boy,  unable  to  lift  a  hand  in  his  own  defense. 
Death  deliberately  danced  around  him,  leaving 
him  to  await  his  own  allotted  time  of  doom ! 

I  had  learned  to  wonder  at  the  uselessness  of 
various  expedients  to  work  the  mail  through  M 
Dowell  canyon.  Large  escorts  would  be  attacked 
and  followed  from  the  heights.  St< mes  and  bullets 
would  hail  down  upon  them.  A  single  man  might 
get  through  !  The  trains  would  be  safe  at  night  for 
a  time,  and  then,  the  tactics  o(  the  red  fiends  would 
change.  There  was  every  variety  of  assorted 
deviltry  going  on.  In  many  of  the  gravest  fron- 
tier disasters,  secret  information  has  been  undoubt- 
edly   smuggled    out   by    infamous    agents  oi    the 


200  WHY    THE    MAIL    CAME    LATE 

enemies  of  peace.  Scallawags,  reiugees,  pretended 
friendly  Indians,  infamous  Mexicans,  Apaches 
dressed  up  as  Pimas,  Papagoes,  or  Maricopas, 
have  penetrated  into  the  very  camps  and  then 
"  laid  for  the  victims,"  almost  within  gun  fire  of 
the  bafHed  garrisons.  In  a  thousand  schemes, 
some  are  sure  to  succeed,  and  the  thieving,  cow- 
ardly, brutal  Apache  had  every  means  to  make 
his  attempt  a  reasonably  sure  one.  The  policy  of 
sending  the  mail  carriers  out  secretly,  and  giving 
them  every  latitude  of  route,  worked  well  for  a 
time,  and  even  brave  Mexican  riders  were  hired  to 
run  the  gauntlet. 

After  a  time,  McDowell  canyon  became  full  of 
little  rude  crosses  with  piles  of  stone  thrown 
around  them  where  human  blood  had  slaked  the 
arid  soil. 

It  was  in  this  delightful  suburban  resort  that  I 
flushed  my  first  Apache !  Two  wagons  and  a 
small  detachment  toiling  on  through  the  pass  were 
guarded  by  a  dozen  riflemen  in  the  wagons  and  a 
half  dozen  scouts  marching  in  readiness.  A  couple 
of  men  closed  up  as  rear  guard,  and  on  this  par- 
ticular evening,  I  worked  out  in  advance  of 
the  two  men  in  the  lead.  The  relief  from  the 
blazing  hell  of  the  day  was  the  only  comfort,  and 
in  the  enjoyment  of  a  huge  briarwood  pipe,  I 
strolled  along  with  the  usual  self-consolatory  feel- 
ing "  There  is  not  an  Indian  within  fifty  miles ! " 

My  heavy  revolver  was  belted  on,  but,  I  did  not 
even  think  of  it  as  I  turned  a  bend  in  the  road  and 


WHY    THE    MAIL    CAME    LATE  201 

came  plump  on  a  shock-headed  brute  sitting  on  ■ 

rock  looking  down  into  the  canyon.     A  bow  and 

quiver  were  upon  his  bark  and  a  rifle  lav  across  hifl 
knees.  The  distant  rattle  of  a  trace  chain  caught 
his  ear  and  he  turned  his  head.     We  were  not  ten 

feet  apart ! 

By  a  mere  mechanical  motion  of  surprise,  I 
grasped  the  heavy  pipe  from  my  mouth,  and  "  the 
party  to  whom  1  had  not  been  introduced  "  evi- 
dently thought  I  was  going  to  shoot  him  in  the  back! 
It  was  hardly  possible  for  him  to  turn,  as  his  le 
were  dangling  over,  and  I  presume  that  he  made 
a  wild  grab  for  his  rifle  to  save  it.  1  could  have 
pushed  him  over  and  probably  broken  his  neck! 
But,  from  sheer  habit  that  pipe  clung  to  my  fingers 
as  if  it  had  been  tarred. 

When  1  had  regained  my  presence  of  mind  and 
"yanked  "  out  my  revolver,  the  Indian  let  himself 
go  and  over  the  cliff  he  went,  dropping  out  of  sight 
like  a  panther  leaping  down  into  darkness.  The 
whole  performance  was  no  more  creditable  to  the 
Apache  brave  than  to  the  "  regular  army-oh  ! "  1  le 
had  no  time  to  recover  from  his  "  stage  fright," 
and,  when  I  sent  two  shots  spinning  down  into  the 
darkness  after  him,  the  two  foremost  riflemen  were 

at  my  side. 

It  was  an  anxious  half-hour  after  that  till  our 
safety  from  attack  proved  that  he  was  probably  a 
runner  making  his  way  across  McDowell  can  von 
to  the  Maricopa  divide.  Our  forward  route 
would  have  left  us  exposed  to  be  peppered  with  no 


202  WHY   THE    MAIL    CAME    LATE 

return,  for  we  could  not  get  away.  I  was  perfectly 
delighted  to  find  that  1  "  had  killed  as  many 
of  him  as  he  did  of  me,"  and  that,  from  perfectly 
natural  causes  he  could  not  fire  his  rifle  at  me 
through  his  own  back.  I  devoutly  hope  that 
this  follower  of  Cochise  broke  his  neck  in  tum- 
bling down  the  cliff,  which  was  a  fairly  rocky 
canyon  side.  There  has  been  no  mention  of  this 
engagement  made  in  any  "  official  reports,"  and  1 
only  hope  for  his  reputation  as  a  warrior  that  he 
said  as  little  to  his  chief  as  I  did  to  mine !  It  was 
simply  after  all  an  informal  meeting  of  two  savages. 

But,  it  was  a  result  of  the  uncertain  chances  of 
life  in  McDowell  canyon,  that  after  a  few  more 
depletions  of  the  garrison  by  sporadic  murder 
the  soldiers  began  to  commit  trivial  offenses  which 
led  to  their  being  placed  in  Camp  McDowell 
guard-house.  An  acute-minded  Post-Adjudant 
discovered  this,  and  found  that  many  of  the 
wearied  out  and  dispirited  men  preferred  to 
trudge  up  and  down  the  hill  wearily  carrying  back 
loads  of  fresh  water  for  the  garrison  from  the 
river,  than  to  risk  being  scalped,  or  having  their 
heads  beaten  flat  with  stones. 

The  ways  of  the  "  old  soldier  "  are  past  finding 
out.  Thrice  happy  is  the  man  who  can  invent 
diseases  of  appalling  frequency  and  weird,  un- 
familiar character,  and  so,  spend  a  fair  share  of 
his  enlistment  snugly  in  hospital,  playing  "  Seven 
Up,"  "  California  Jack,"  and  fattening  while  his 
pay  runs  on. 


WHY     THE    MAIL    (  AMI;     LAI  L  203 

There  were  several  soldiers  at  Camp  M<  Dowell 
whom  the  Adjutant  could  have-  better  spared  than 
other  men  who  died  under  the  knife  or  arrow. 
Among    these    was    notably     "Private     Patrick 

Maguire,"  of  a  chequered  army  career.  Nat 
were  to  him  as  things  of  protean  hue.  Enlist- 
ments he  had  shed  as  the  serpent  does  its  worn- 
out  skin,  and,  he  was  a  past-master  of  every  art  of 
malingering  by  flood  and  field.  The  last  twentv- 
five  years  have  brought  into  the  "  regulars  "  as 
fine  human  stock  as  ornaments  any  service,  but 
immediately  at  the  close  of  the  war,  a  regiment  on 
Western  service  was  the  best  place  to  hide  an  un- 
comfortable personal  record.  These  bad  men  were 
not  in  a  majority,  but  they  leavened  the  whole 
mass,  and  several  commands  in  the  territories  had 
the  reputation  of  "trying  on  their  voung  officers" 
to  the  verge  of  mutiny.  It  was  with  the  design 
of  forcing  a  fair  division  of  dangerous  duty,  that 
the  Post-Adjutant  obtained  an  order  that  the 
"guard-house  men"  should  be  drafted  equally 
with  the  "  duty  men  "  for  the  running  of  the  mail 
gauntlet.  A  tacit  understanding  at  Maricopa 
Wells  that  the  men  should  be  well  (cd  and  re- 
freshed with  the  "  strong  waters  of  Kentucky  " 
made  the  detail,  at  last,  rather  a  popular  one.  Pri- 
vate Patrick  Maguire  was  delving  in  his  well-fur- 
nished brain  for  schemes  whereby  to  profit  by  his 
dangerous  duties.  The  appeasing  of  his  Tantalus 
thirst  was  always  "a  well-spring  of  joy. "but  it 
was  to  him  and  his  partner  Tom  Doolan,  that  the 
formation  of  the  whisky  express  was  due! 


204  WHY    THE    MAIL    CAME    LATE 

Given  two  excellent  mules,  each  man  armed 
with  a  revolver  and  good  Springfield  breechloader, 
with  double  belts  of  ammunition,  the  singular  pair 
made  bi-weekly  trips, with  great  success,  for  a  time. 
A  dozen  bottles  of  whisky,  purchased  at  Maricopa 
for  a  dollar  each,  and  buried  just  outside  the  guard 
lines,  were  always  promptly  retailed  at  five  dollars 
a  bottle  to  men  who  had  no  other  means  of  spend- 
ing their  pay.  The  all-pervading  "  spiritual  influ- 
ence M  which  enlivened  Camp  McDowell  was  for 
a  long  time  undiscovered,  until  a  little  rencontre, 
which  permanently  broke  up  the  whisky  express. 

The  most  perfect  latitude  had  been  given  to  the 
two  chums,  who  departed  as  they  listed,  made  the 
trip  as  they  liked,  and  came  into  the  post  from  dif- 
ferent directions,  sometimes  by  night,  sometimes 
by  day.  Discharged  men  going  away,  settlers  from 
the  Verde,  and  casual  travelers,  often  swelled  their 
little  party.  A  condemned  quartermaster's  mule 
was  given  them  to  pack  the  mail  on,  and  the  can- 
yon seemed  to  have  lost  some  of  its  terrors. 

But,  like  "  that  boat  on  the  Mississip,"  a  fatal 
night  came  when  the  two  daredevils  were  jogging 
along  up  the  canyon,  with  the  laden  mule  trotting 
peaceably  between  them.  There  were  twenty- 
four  bottles  of  whisky  balanced  across  the  pack- 
mule,  with  the  mail  sack  strapped  over  the  illicit 
pack.  A  rattling  volley  from  above  to  the  right 
brought  poor  Tom  Doolan  off  his  riding  animal 
at  the  first  fire ! 

"  Save  yerself,  Patsey,"  he  cried.    "  I'm  hit! '' 


w  HV    i  Hi.    mail   CAME    LATE  205 

"Crawl  up  into  the  rocks  under  the  cliff!  I'll 
be  with  you,  in  a  jiffy!"   huskily  ened  Maguire 

as  he  cut  away  the  mail  bag  and  ran  swiftly  up 
under  the  overhanging  rocks!  It  still  lacked  two 
hours  of  daylight,  and,  Maguire  was  back  life 
flash!  With  his  hunting  knife,  he  cut  away  the 
ammunition  pouches  from  the  riding  mules  and 
then,  sent  them  clattering  al<  mg  the  road  !  "  We've 
a  few  minutes' to  hide,  before  they'll  be  down!"  He 
had  snatched  up  Doolan's  rifle  and  found  the  very 
spot  he  wanted!  A  re-entrant  hollow  under  tin- 
overhanging  bluff  at  a  bend,  where  a  pile  of  ragged 
rocks  had  slid  down  from  the  hill  over  them  ! 

With  the  smartness  of  an  old  soldier,  he  had 
wrenched  away  the  water  canteens  from  the  saddle 
bow  of  the  riding  animals. 

While  he  aided  Doolan  to  hide  himself  in  the 
rocks,  Maguire  listened  to  a  fusillade  two  hundred 
yards  up  the  road. 

"  By  hokey  !"  he  cried,  "  they're  peppering  the 
mules!"  And,  while  he  retrieved  all  his  useful 
articles,  he  found  that  Doolan  had  already  got  his 
handkerchief  twisted  around  his  thigh  and  cramped 
tight  with  his  revolver  barrel. 

"They'll  not  find  us  till  daylight,  maybe  ,"  cried 
Maguire,  as  he  heaped  up  a  barricade  of  the  la 
stones,  while  he  cheered  the  wounded  partner  <>f 
the  "  Whisky  Express."  u  In  five  minutes,  if  thej 
hold  off,  we'll  have  a  snug  little  fort  here.  Try  and 
beaisv,  now,  Tom,  till  I  can  help  you  !  "  With  the 
haste   of  desperation,   Maguire    loaded   the  two 


206  WHY    THE    MAIL    CAME    LATE 

Springfields,  laid  them  ready,  and  brought  his  re- 
volver round  to  the  front. 

"  If  we  had  but  a  bit  of  the  whisky,"  groaned 
Maguire.  "  I've  two  flasks  in  me  blouse  pockets, 
inside,"  groaned  Doolan. 

"  If  they  hold  off  half  an  hour,  glory  be  to  God, 
we  may  stand  them  off! "  whispered  Maguire,  as  he 
tugged  away  at  his  breast-high  wall.  There 
was  the  sound  of  triumphant  yells  far  up  the  can- 
yon ringing  out  now ! 

"  Ah !  the  devils !"  groaned  Maguire.  "  They've 
caught  the  mules  now.  When  it's  light  and  they 
find  no  sign  of  us,  they'll  be  down  here  after  our 
scalps !" 

The  "  first  aid  to  the  injured"  of  Private  Tom 
Doolan  was  soon  replaced  by  a  strong  tourniquet 
of  Maguire's  suspenders,  well  twisted  up  with  a 
piece  of  a  dried  branch.  A  few  gulps  of  the 
whisky  and  Doolan  was  set  up  on  his  knees, 
propped  up  behind  the  stone  barricade,  his  revolv- 
er in  his  hand  and  Maguire's  revolver  slipped  in 
the  empty  holster. 

"You're  not  to  shoot  unless  they  rush,  remem- 
ber, Tom  !  "  cautioned  General  Maguire.  "  1  can 
stand  them  off,  with  the  two  guns !  "  They  had 
doubled  cartridge  belts  and  forty  extra  rounds  for 
rifle  and  revolver  in  the  saddle  pockets. 

The  men  both  knew  what  a  grim  death  awaited 
them  !  For  the  Apaches  craved  the  weapons,  and 
ammunition  to  be  found  belted  around  the  bodies 
of  the  men  whom  they  supposed  they  had  killed! 


WHY    THE    MAIL    CAME    LATE  207 

Firing  a  volley  directly  at  the  advancing  no 
the  Indians  were  misled  by  the  positions  in  which 

they  found  the   animals,   which,  by   instinct,   had 
trotted  leisurely  along  on  their  homeward  road! 

And,  while  the  two  soldiers  at  bay,  were  resolv 
ing  to  sell  their  lives  dearly,  the  attacking  part\ 
were  searching  the  lower  canyon  and    gully  lor 
the  bodies  of  the  slain! 

The  dawn  came  glimmering  slowly  into  the 
canyon  as  Maguire,  with  quick  eye,  caught  the 
first  bushy  head  bobbing  around  the  bend. 
"  There's  no  use  to  fire  till  they  find  us,"  he 
growled,  "  and  every  minute  we  hold  off,  betters 
the  chances  of  some  one  coming  along  the  road. 
If  it  was  only  two  or  three  travelers  we  could 
then  stand  them  off!  Tom,  not  a  shot  from  you. 
unless  they  rush,"  hoarsely  whispered  Maguire. 

"They're  acting  mighty  funny,"  muttered 
Doolan,  with  a  groan.  His  thigh  was  stiffening, 
and  the  irritation  of  fever  burned  in  his  fingers 
twitching  the  triggers  of  the  two  big  army  revol- 
vers. 

It  was  still  so  dusky  that  the  two  men  could 
only  see  the  three  Indians  picking  up  the  trail  bit 
by  bit ! 

Suddenly,  with  a  shout,  the  three  rushed  di- 
rectly up  to  the  bank  toward  where  the  sole  pro- 
prietors of  the  Whisky  Express  grimly  awaited 
them.  Well  the  two  men  cooped  up  there  knew 
the  stocky  naked  forms,  the  girdle  and  breech  - 
clout,  the  raw-hide  sandals,  the  quivers  of  short 


208  WHY    THE    MAIL    CAME    LATE 

arrows,  and  the  hastily  scraped  Apache  bow. 
There  was  a  revolver  and  knife  at  each  brute's  belt, 
but,  they  staggered  along  with  their  guns  at  a 
ready. 

As  yet  they  saw  nothing,  but  when  two  of  them 
came  in  line,  by  a  mere  chance,  then  Maguire,  at 
ten  feet  distance,  sent  an  ounce  bullet  plowing 
through  them  both!  The  other  buck  turned,  with 
a  yell,  but  Maguire  had  snatched  the  second  gun 
and  killed  him  before  he  reached  the  road! 

"  Patsy,"  whispered  Doolan,  the  reserve, 
"  we've  a  chance  left.  These  fellows  were  all 
drunk  !     If  the  others " 

''Remember!"  yelled  Maguire,  his  fighting 
blood  up,  "  Hold  your  pistols  to  the  last !"  A  knot 
of  a  dozen  dusky  forms  dashed  around  the  corner 
of  the  bluffs  sixty  yards  away,  and,  firing  wildly, 
made  directly  for  the  spot  where  the  bodies  of  the 
three  braves  lay  ! 

Rifleman  Maguire  had  been  trained  to  fire  ten 
shots  a  minute  from  his  Springfield,  and  so,  he 
worked  in  seven  discharges,  dropping  five  men,  be- 
fore three  of  the  rum-infuriated  warriors  crowned 
the  little  stony  knoll,  only  to  meet  the  fusillade  of 
Doolan's  heavy  revolvers  as  an  agonizing  surprise ! 
One  of  the  warriors  dashed  off  the  bluff  into  the 
creek  gorge,  and  three  rolled  and  twisted  away 
out  of  sight  and  fire,  more  or  less  crippled ! 

But,  seven  bodies  lay  motionless  in  plain  sight  of 
the  little  breastwork ! 

The  two  men  lay  glaring  out  like  wild  beasts  at 


WHY     1  HE     MAIL     (AMI.     I. A  I  B  20  ) 

bay  as  the  merciless  sun  tame  up  and  it 
beat  down  into  their  little  cavern.    The  effect   ol 

some  random  shots  from  the  two  angles  ol  tin 
bends  of  the  road,  the  attempt  to  roll  some  hea 
boulders  down  on  them  and  crush  them,  and  the 
menace  of  hideous  yells  ringing  through  the  1  an- 

von,  alone  showed  the  presence  of  the-  red  devils ! 

There  was  no  sign  of   relict,  and  the  exi  ited 

Maguire  began   to  lose  all   hope   when    Doolan 

became  flighty  under  the  influence  of  the  heat  and 

the  pain  of  his  wound.     Several  times  the  poor 

castaway  had  to  drag  his  friend  down  behind  the 
breastwork;  and  the  idea  of  lashing  his  friend's 
arms  began  to  dawn  upon  him. 

"These  devils  will  sober  off  soon!"  gloomily 
cried  Maguire.  <kThev'll  wait  till  night  and  come 
on  with  a  rush.  Then,  it's  all  up  with  poor  Doolan 
— an'  me.  Well,  I'll  hold  on  to  one  of  the  revol- 
vers! A  couple  of  shots  from  it  for  poor  Tom, 
and  the  last  one — for  me.  I'll  cheat  them,  at  the 
last !  " 

He  considered  the  idea  of  lashing  the  half- 
frantic  Doolan  to  his  own  body  with  Doolan* 
belt.  "  I  must  keep  a  way  to  shoot,"  he  grimly 
decided,  and,  he  was  relieved  and  yet  astounded, 
when  Doolan's  head  sank  back  in  a  swoon  of  ex- 
haustion. 

"  Poor  old  Tom!  Ye'll  never  see  Galway  Baj 
again!"  he  growled,  as  the  wounded  man's  limbs 
relaxed.  He  rolled  him  back  and  covered  his 
face   with  a  wet  cloth.     As   he   turned    his  head, 


2IO  WHY    THE    MAIL    CAME    LATE 

fearfully,  he  saw,  to  his  horror,  two  or  three  bushy 
heads  peeping  up  from  each  side  of  the  ap- 
proaches, as  the  remaining  half-sobered  Indians 
tried  to  crawl  up  into  position.  But,  the  two  guns 
handled  alternately  were  too  much  !  The  soldier 
was  fighting  now  for  the  honor  of  Gal  way  and  to 
save  his  friend  from  being  scalped.  There  comes 
a  time  when  desperation  alone  rules,  and  Maguire 
had  reached  the  automatic  point ! 

His  ears  had  not  noted  the  ringing  answer  of  a 
cavalry  bugle  provoked  by  the  last  rapid  fusillade 
as  he  was  watching  the  crawling  up  process. 

"  Who  is  up  there  in  the  rocks?"  yelled  Lieu- 
tenant Witherspoon,  as  a  half-dozen  of  his  men 
chased  the  last  fleeing  redskins  around  the  bend. 

"  A  detachment  of  the  Fourteenth  Infantry,  and 
the  U.  S.  Mails !"  proudly  cried  Maguire,  as  he 
leaped  down  the  shingle,  when  he  saw  the  lead 
mules  of  a  heavy  train  come  wagging  up  the  road. 
"  Come  up  and  help  him  out !  "  begged  Maguire. 

Before  Lieutenant  Witherspoon's  convoy 
reached  Camp  McDowell,  the  teamsters  had 
counted  the  dead  Apaches  and  the  empty  whisky 
bottles.  The  story  was  too  good  to  keep  !  When 
Patsy  Maguire  apologized  to  the  Commander  for 
"  the  mails  arriving  a  little  late  " — that  officer 
kindly  said,  "  Never  mind,  Sergeant  Maguire, 
you  are  to  have  your  chevrons  for  saving  your 
friend's  life,  but,  I  will  discontinue  the  Whisky 
Express ! " 


THE   SECRET   OF    DOCTOR 
HARPER'S  CABINET 


BY 


RICHARD  HENRY  SAVAGE 


GOOD-BYE   TO    OLD    TUSCULUM 


THE     SECRET    OF    DOCTOR 
HARPER'S   CABINET. 


THERE  was  no  unhappier  man  in  the  beautiful 
Shenandoah  Valley  in  the  gloomy  winter  of  [860 
than  that  universally  beloved  old  gentleman,  St. 
George  Beverley  Harper,  M.  D.  The  election  of 
Abraham  Lincoln  seemed  to  portend  serious 
trouble  for  the  beloved  Old  Dominion. 

There  was  no  physician  as  well  known  in  Fred- 
erick, Clarke,  and  Loudoun  counties,  as  a  rigid 
practitioner  of  the  old  school  of  medicine,  the 
duello  and  Arabian  hospitality.  By  means  of  his 
well-known  traveling  carriage  and  his  span  of 
blacks,  guided  by  old  Pompey,  Doctor  Harper 
distributed  calomel,  jalap  and  laudanum  with  a 
liberal  hand,  over  avast  border  area  of  Maryland 
and  Virginia.  His  life  had  rippled  on  serenely  at 
Tusculum,his  stately  home  near  Winchester,  since 
he  had  retired  from  society  upon  the  death  <>t  a 
beloved  wife  many  years  before.  His  pint 
sional  presence  had  illustrated  many  of  the  high- 
toned  affairs  of  honor  in  the  good  old  fighting 
days,  and  at  sixty-five,  the  simple-hearted,  fiery 
old  patrician  was  still  ready   to   Hare  up  win  n  the 


214    THE    SECRET    OF    DOCTOR   HARPER'S    CABINET 

"  peculiar  institution  "  or  the  "  sacred  soil "  was 
endangered. 

"  I  can  see  trouble  coming,  my  boy,"  he  would 
gloomily  remark  to  his  only  relative,  St.  George 
Harper  Beverley,  the  prospective  heir  of  Tuscu- 
lum.  This  gallant  young  gentleman,  after  leaving 
the  University  of  Virginia,  was  duly  moved  along 
into  that  gentlemanly  preparation  for  public  life — 
the  law — and,  was  already  the  ornamental  capstone 
of  the  four  hundred  and  eighty-two  young  law- 
yers of  Charlestown.  A  daring  rider  to  hounds, 
an  excellent  sportsman,  and  the  soul  of  manly 
honor,  young  Squire  Beverley  rallied  his  friends 
around  the  hospitable  board  of  Tusculum  and 
calmly  awaited  greatness  to  be  thrust  upon  him. 
Seated  upon  the  broad  porch  of  the  old  mansion 
house,  young  Beverley  and  his  friends  listened  to 
the  old  Doctor's  forebodings,  while  they  enjoyed 
their  after-dinner  cigars  and  proudly  gazed  upon 
the  beautiful  vistas  of  the  Shenandoah,  then  "  fair 
as  a  garden  of  the  Lord." 

"  The  brunt  of  it  will  fall  upon  you  younger 
men,"  sadly  remarked  the  old  doctor.  "  I  was  out  in 
Mexico,  and  my  fighting  days  are  over,  but,  I  am 
making  preparations  to  meet  the  trouble.  We  are 
here  on  the  border,  and  these  clouds  seem  to  lower 
over  dear  old  Virginia." 

"  The  Yankees  will  never  fight  us,  they  will  back 
down,  as  they  always  do,  in  Congress,"  hotly 
urged  young  Persifer  Drummond  Rhett.  He  was 
a  fiery    young  local    aristocrat,   whose    personal 


THE  SECRET  OV    DOCTOR  HARPERS  I        115 

knowledge  of  the  detested  Yankee  v.  nfined 

to  an  itinerant  tin  peddler  or  a  meek-eyed,  thin- 
chested  school  teacher. 
But,  the  old  man,  seated  by  one  oi  the  six  great 

fluted  Corinthian  columns  of  the  ancient  manor 
house,  gazed  wistfully  over  his  fair  inheri'tan 
It  was  a  noble  old  place  with  stately  trees,  fair 
meadows,  gurgling  brooks,  and  rich,  fruitful  fields. 
A  hundred  negroes  were  cosily  domiciled  upon 
the  broad  lands  of  Tusculum,  and  much  was  done 
and  undone  there  in  the  loose,  easy  way  of  the 
fine  old  Virginia  gentleman,  all  of  the  olden  time  I 
"I  am  not  so  sure,  Persifer,  my  boy,"  kindly 
said  the  venerable  host.  "  The  power  of  the  North, 
if  exerted,  will  be  a  mighty  one.  We  always  un- 
dervalue our  opponents  in  the  struggles  of  life !  I 
saw  the  New  York  Regiment  go  up  the  hill  at 
Chepultepec,  with  as  game  a  rush  as  the  Palmet- 
toes  !  In  money  and  resources,  they  are  far  beyon<  1 
us."  Doctor  Harper's  mind  went  back  to  the  days 
when  his  rosy,  clear-eyed  Virginia  wife  swept 
along  the  piazzas  of  the  great  Saratoga  hotels  like 
an  escaped  goddess,  a  memory  of  the  days  ot  Gre- 
cian beauty.  He  had  spent  his  mornings  around 
the  Springs,  his  panama  hat  lying  on  his  knees,  and 
enjoying  a  rare  Cuban  cigar,  while  the  "  solid  men  " 
of  the  great  summer  resort,  gravely  consulted 
"upon  the  state  of  the  Union."  And,  a  traveled 
man,  the  doctor  knew  the  prep<  >n«  lerati  ng  si  rengl  b 
of  the  great  North, East,  and  West.  "  It  will  bra 
sad  business,  gentlemen,  if   we  come   to  a   trial  by 


2l6    THE    SECRET    OF    DOCTOR   HARPER'S    CABINET 

force.  Our  beloved  Southland  has  high  blood, 
brave  men  to  muster  in,  and  the  courage  of  our 
convictions.  We  are  weak  in  monetary  resources, 
railroads,  and  the  manufacturing  element.  Of 
course,  our  people  and  even  our  blacks  are  to  be 
relied  on,  but,  I  fear  for  the  final  result,  if  the  war 
is  a  long  one." 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  Beverley,  "  we  will  carry  the  war 
over  the  borders  with  a  rush  and  dictate  terms  at 
Boston,  Philadelphia,  and  New  York  !" 

"  It  may  be  !  It  may  be  so  !  "  the  old  gentleman 
said,  as  he  wandered  away  to  his  library  and  the 
consideration  of  his  own  preparations,  leaving  the 
young  men  demolishing  the  illogical  public  posi- 
tions of  the  Yankee  statesmen. 

An  excitable  state  of  feeling  soon  pervaded  the 
whole  valley  of  Virginia,  and  as  the  spring  days 
came  on,  the  inauguration  of  Lincoln,  the  frantic 
wave  of  enthusiasm  rolling  up  from  the  gulf,  and 
the  necessity  for  the  "  Mother  of  Presidents  "  tak- 
ing sides  brought  about  Virginia's  secession  on 
April  1 8,  and  the  immediate  seizure  of  the  Harper's 
Ferry  arsenal  and  the  Norfolk  Navy  Yard. 

The  land  was  ablaze,  north  and  south,  and  there 
was  quite  a  bevy  of  bright-eyed  Virginia  girls 
clustered  around  the  white  columns  of  Tusculum 
when  Captain  St.  George  Harper  Beverly  rode 
back  from  the  successful  descent  upon  Harper's 
Ferry. 

He  was  a  young  fellow  of  handsome  and  athletic 
proportions,  sinewy,  well  knit,  and  yet,  not  a  giant 


THE   SECRET   OP   doctor   iiakti-k's   CABINE1     217 

in  stature,  and  therefore,  he  had  jxtiiiK  <<1  upon  the 
very  tallest  horse  available,  the  Longest  black 
feather,  and  one  of  the  antique  lour  and  a  half  loot 
sabres  once  made  by  a  liberal  Ordnance  officer  tor 
the  old  First  Dragoons. 

These  fearful  blades  were,  in  reality, approximat- 
ing five  feet,  and  their  weight  and  clumsiness  made 
it  possible  for  even  the  simplest  Yankee  to  scram- 
ble away  out  of  reach.  They  had  a  curve  of  dia- 
bolic uselessness,  moreover!  But,  all  looked  fair 
in  the  future  of  the  budding  Confederacy.  It  vras 
"chock  full  of  fight,"  and  the  nevcr-to-be-replaced 
flower  of  the  South  was  being  hastened  forward 
to  the  Potomac  and  the  Ohio. 

It  was  natural  that  Beverley  should  join  Turner 
Ashby's  splendid  riders,  and  he  was  quite  the  h< 
of  the  hour  when  the  spirited  beauties  decorated 
him  with  red,  white  and  red  rosettes,  sword  knot, 
and  all  manner  of  military  coquettish  adornments. 

And,  then,  lightly  the  gallant  young  hearts  went 
forth  to  battle  for  States'  Rights  and  old  Virginia  ! 
With  fond  affection,  the  brave  girls  "bound  their 
warrior's  sash,"  but,  sad  and  gloomy  years  were 
stretched  out  before  them,  hidden  behind  the  pall 
of  Bull  Run's  battle  smoke! 

The  old  master  of  Tusculum  had  not  urged  on 
immediate  secession;  his  silver  hairs  were  seen  in 
the  Convention  voicing  the  noble  words  of  John 
Bell,  Crittenden,  and  other  moderate  patriots. 
But,  all  in  vain,  and,  after  the  bevy  of  young 
people  had  departed  to  other  homes,  t<>  speed  other 


218   THE   SECRET    OF    DOCTOR   HARPER'S    CABINET 

departing  warriors,  the  Doctor  and  his  nephew 
dined  sadly  alone. 

At  daybreak  the  young  captain  was  to  ride  away 
to  Manassas,  and  his  preparations  were  now  all  con- 
cluded. "  Hank  "  and  "  Rube,"  two  of  the  likeliest 
negro  boys,  were  to  be  his  henchmen,  the  one  to 
act  as  military  valet,  the  other  to  take  care  of  the 
two  blooded  chargers.  The  two  men  had  wan- 
dered up  to  a  knoll  from  which  the  whole 
beautiful  Potomac  region  could  be  descried. 

It  was  glowing  in  its  loveliness,  and  not  a  blood- 
stain smeared  God's  tender,  budding  grass. 

The  "  Old  Dominion  "  was  ablaze  now  !  No  one 
knew  of  the  horrors  and  devastation  to  come.  In 
vain,  young  Beverley  urged  that  the  Southern 
army  would  keep  the  Yankees  north  of  the 
Potomac.  "  My  boy,"  sadly  said  the  Doctor,  "  it  is  a 
sluggish  giant,  that  Northern  people,  but  they  are 
making  vast  preparations.  I  fear  that  the  torrent 
of  war  will  burst  soon  upon  our  peaceful  homes." 

When  all  was  done  that  night,  and  Beverley  had 
received  every  instruction  from  the  old  surgeon  as 
to  health,  possible  wounds,  and  a  hundred  details, 
the  old  man  laid  his  hand  in  blessing  upon  the 
young  knight. 

"  I  am  sorry  that  I  am  not  a  richer  man,  my 
boy,"  the  veteran  kindly  said.  "  Here  is  five  hun- 
dred dollars  in  gold.  Treasure  it.  Our  troops 
will  soon  be  poorly  provided — poorly  paid." 

"  I  have  left  the  old  place  to  you,  the  colored 
people  go  with  it.    Heaven  knows  what  their  fate 


THE   SECRET   OP    DOCTOR    HARPERS    CABINE1    919 

will  be  in  this  war— which  I  sec  now  will  be  long 
and  bloody.     I  could  not  realize  any  money  for 

you  save  by  selling  the  dear  old  place,  <>r  a  large 

portion  of  the  slaves.  Either  act  would  be  a  prac- 
tical treason  to  our  community  now !    But,  I  bav< 

made  some  prudent  provision   for  you,  in  SO  far 

as  I  could,  and  Doctor  Hall,  our  dear  old  pastor. 
will  know  of  it.  I  have  hardly  decided  upon  the 
last  steps.  If  you  are  spared  to  come  back  to  inc. 
if  I  am  here  to  meet  you,  I  will  act  myself,  and, 
if  I  am  called  away,  he  and  his  wife  alone,  will 
know  what  I  have  done  for  you." 

There  were  grateful  tears  in  the  young  man's 
eyes,  as  he  said  "  Good  night,"  and  long  after  he 
had  sought  his  room,  he  could  hear  the  old  doctor 
pacing  his  own  apartment  wrapped  in  gloomy 
forebodings. 

When  the  gallant  young  captain  galloped  away 
the  next  morning,  he  paused  a  half-mile  away  to 
snatch  a  last  fond  look  of  the  antiquated  glories 
of  dear  old  Tusculum. 

None  of  us  is  a  prophet  in  his  own  time,  and 
few  dreams  seem  wilder  than  that  in  the  next  two 
years,  a  grave,  careless-looking,  obscure  professor 
of  mathematics  at  the  Virginia  Military  Institute 
would  make  the  name  of  "  Stonewall  Jackson  " 
deathless  for  all  time!  That  the  campaigns  of  the 
Shenandoah  would  bring  out  of  the  dreamy  man 
the  iron  valor  of  a  Ney,  the  headlong  gallantry  of 
a  Lannes,  and  the  irresistibility  of  a  Wellington  I 
But,  it  was  written  in  the  stars!   The  lonely  region 


220   THE    SECRET    OF    DOCTOR   HARPERS    CABINET 

seemed  to  be  framed  to  illustrate  that  marvelous 
military  career  of  two  years,  which  caused  the 
great  Lee  to  despairingly  cry,  after  the  gloriously 
fatal  day  of  Chancellorsville :  "  He  is  better  off 
than  I  am.  He  lost  his  left  arm.  I  have  lost  my 
'right!"  The  whole  region  which  the  old  doctor 
had  ridden  over  seemed  to  be  only  a  death  trap 
for  the  Federal  armies,  and  the  death  of  Stone- 
wall Jackson,  and  the  coming  of  that  grim  swords- 
man, Philip  Sheridan,  alone  turned  the  tide  of  de- 
feat! 

The  red  plowshare  of  war  was  driven  through 
the  heart  of  the  lovely  Shenandoah  at  last,  and 
Doctor  Hall  had  preached  the  funeral  sermon 
over  the  friend  of  his  youth,  long  before  Major 
Beverley,  sick,  wounded,  sore  at  heart,  and  pen- 
niless, was  turned  loose,  a  returned  prisoner  of 
war,  at  the  Potomac  to  look  at  the  ravages  of 
Sheridan's  cavalry. 

For  two  years,  the  veteran  Confederate  had  re- 
ceived no  news  of  his  home,  save  the  tidings  of 
the  death  of  the  old  doctor,  who  saw  the  last 
hopes  of  his  fellow  Confederates  perish  one  by 
one. 

Winchester  was  shot  and  shell  torn  !  Its  streets 
were  garrisoned  by  Federal  soldiers  and  beyond 
a  parole  and  a  vast  experience  of  gallant  and  hope- 
less fighting,  St.  George  Harper  Beverley  was 
absolutely  without  belongings  of  any  kind !  He 
found  a  mass  of  straggling  blacks  hanging  around 
the  dear  old  town,  where  he  was  forgotten,  and,  in 


I  in:    SECRET    OF    DOCTOR    HARPERS    CABINE1     2J\ 

whose  halls  the  stern  Provost-Marshal  ruled  gruff- 
ly.  The  war  had  been  fought  out  at  last  !     Virginia 
had  been  torn  in  two,  and  at  thirty,  the  Confeder 
ate  veteran  gazed,  siek    at   heart,    upon    t he    ruin 
of  his  section,  his  State,  and  his  family  fortunes. 

A  first  pilgrimage  to  his  uncle's  tomb  nerved 
him  to  depart  with  the  aid  of  a  few  straggling 
friends,  finally  met  with,  to  revisit  Tusculum,  the 
home  of  his  youth.  Riding  on  a  borrowed  mule, 
he  journeyed  over  the  old  roads  once  so  familiar. 
The  whole  beautiful  face  of  Nature  had  changed  I 
Sheridan's  wild  troopers  and  the  ebb  and  How 
of  armies  had  swept  away  houses,  barns,  bridges, 
fences,  stock,  crops,  and  all  that  made  the  valley 
habitable. 

The  abandoned  wrecks  of  military  property 
alone,  marked  the  tide  of  Federal  or  Confederate 
disaster. 

When  at  last,  St.  George  Beverley  crowned 
the  well-remembered  knoll,  he  groaned  in  the 
anguish  of  a  bitter  heart.  Only  a  heap  of  black- 
ened ashes  marked  the  site  of  the  old  mansion- 
house.  The  woods  had  been  swept  away  for 
picket  fires,  the  gardens  were  uprooted,  the  offices 
leveled  to  the  ground,  the  orchards  and  fields 
were  bare  and  blasted. 

Here  and  there,  a  tottering  chimney  told  of  the 
red  hoof  of  war  which  had  plowed  with  fire  this 
once  smiling  Paradise! 

"  Why  in  God's  name  did  I  not  stop  a  Federal 
bullet  that  bit  deep  enough?"  the  penniless  Major 


2  22     THE    SECRET    OF    DOCTOR    HARPERS    CABINET 

groaned,  and  his  hand  fell  on  the  butt  of  a  revol- 
ver which  had  been  his  only  trophy  of  victory. 

"No;  not  by  my  own  hand / "  he  cried,  as  his  eyes 
rested  upon  a  few  white  stones  marking  the  family 
cemetery. 

They  had  spared  his  mother's  grave,  and  there 
he  found  the  blessed  relief  of  tears.  He  prayed 
beside  that  grave  and  dedicated  himself  to  a  new 
life! 

There  was  nothing  to  linger  for.  The  negro 
quarters  had  all  vanished.  There  was  no  stock, 
only  a  few  wandering  razor-backs.  The  blacks 
had  evidently  been  impressed  or  swept  away  to 
join  the  great  helpless  mass  then  cowering  around 
Georgetown,  "  in  the  full  enjoyment  of  the  blessings 
of  liberty." 

On  his  way  back  to  Winchester,  he  tossed  up  a 
copper  cent,  one  of  his  boyish  luck  pieces.  He 
had  a  distant  connection  at  Hagerstown  who  had 
already  offered  a  temporary  refuge. 

"  Heads,  I  go  out  to  the  Pacific  Coast !  Tails,  I 
stay  and  try  and  work  into  the  Baltimore  Bar ! 
This  is  a  dead  land.  A  shrine  of  battle  memories. 
And,  twenty-five  years  must  pass  before  it  can 
begin  to  recover." 

He  duly  returned  his  borrowed  mule  and  sought 
out  the  old  pastor  at  Winchester.  Perhaps  there 
was  some  little  thing  left  hidden  away — the  trust 
which  his  uncle  had  hinted  at !  Alas !  Doctor 
Hall  was  dead,  and  Mrs.  Hall  had  sought  a  refuge 
w^th  some  family  friends  in  Kentucky  or  Tennessee. 


mi:    SECRE1    01    DOCTOR    HARPERS    CABIN  El     I 

And  so,  girding  up  his  loins,  he  crossed  the-  Po- 
tomac to  begin  Life  anew  at  Hagerstown. 
It  was  three  years  later,  when  the  winning  ofa 

celebrated  case  sent  the  rising  Lawyer's  name  over 

the  border  States  with  the  most  friendly  en- 
comiums upon  his  talents  and  record.  A  nomina- 
tion for  Congress  followed  and  in  the  press  of  the 
political  fight,  Major  Beverley  was  astounded  to 
receive  a  letter  from  Cynthiana,  Kentucky,  signed 
by  the  pastor's  widow.  It  transmitted  a  Letter 
from  his  dead  uncle  with  a  drawing  of  the  secret 
drawers  of  a  famous  old  cabinet  which  had  been 
the  pride  of  Tusculum.  The  words  of  the  dead 
man  stirred  up  strange  memories  of  that  last  night ! 
"  There  is  a  treasure  hidden  in  the  cabinet  for 
you,  my  boy.  I  have  concealed  it,  knowing  that 
if  you  survive  the  war  it  will  be  only  to  meet  pov- 
erty and  hardship,  on  your  upward  way  in  life  !" 

In  the  few  words,  the  budding  Congressman 
recognized  the  paternal  tenderness  of  his  dear  old 
clansman. 

How  well  he  remembered  that  old  mahogany 
cabinet,  a  piece  of  ponderous  joiner  work.  Three 
great  drawers  below,  a  desk-lid  dropping  down, 
counterpoised  by  huge  concealed  interior  weights, 
a  wonderful  nesting  of  drawers,  and  an  inner  mir- 
ror, with  one  large  drawer  at  the  top,  in  the  rear 
of  which  the  secret  compartments  were  ingen- 
iously masked.  A  huge  mahogany  slab,  split  and 
turned  sideways,  displayed  on  this  swinging  door 
the    most   magnificent   tracery   of  grain,  and   the 


224   THE    SECRET    OF    DOCTOR    HARPERS    CABINET 

dark,  red  polish  of  a  hundred  years  made  the  old 
cabinet  a  thing  of  beauty.  Its  gilt-bronze  hatch- 
ings and  scutcheons  were  worked  with  the  Bever- 
ley arms. 

Major  Beverley  had,  in  some  loose  fashion,  set 
up  a  suzerainty  over  the  place  where  Tusculum 
had  once  opened  its  hospitable  doors.  A  few  of  the 
negroes  had  wandered  back,  and  were  half  starving 
along  there,  "  on  shares."  The  history  of  the  sad 
past  had  been  picked  up  bit  by  bit.  Tusculum 
had  been  used  as  quarters  by  a  dozen  leading  Gen- 
erals on  each  side.  It  had  later  been  turned  into 
a  hospital,  and  finally  burned  down  as  the  result 
of  military  vandalism,  its  imposing  front  inviting 
such  retribution  in  the  bitter  days  of  the  Early 
and  Sheridan  campaigns.  But  the  silver,  the  por- 
traits, the  valuable  furniture,  the  library,  all  the 
treasure  had  been  gradually  looted  one  by  one ; 
the  floors  were  ripped  up  in  search  of  hidden 
treasure !  Major  Beverley  was  a  Congressman 
before  he  had  succeeded  in  tracing  the  vanishing 
movements  of  the  well-remembered  cabinet.  After 
the  hospital  use  of  the  old  house  had  ruined  it  for 
residence,  Tusculum  was  used  as  a  forage  depot 
for  a  season — preparatory  to  its  holocaust. 

An  old  family  negro  was  unearthed  who  told 
the  tale  of  a  Yankee  Quartermaster  who  packed 
up  the  cabinet  and  had  it  moved  Potomacward. 
Much  futile  correspondence  with  the  pastor's  wife 
and  considerable  trouble  ended  in  a  final  abandon- 
ment of  the  search. 


THE    SECRET    OF    DOCTOR    HARPERS    CABINET     225 

But,  there  arc  strange  turns  of  fortune's  wheels 
even  in  the  histories  of  inanimate  as  well  as  ani- 
mate cabinets !  One  of  the  first  civic  honors  be- 
stowed upon  Congressman  Beverley  was  tin- invita- 
tion to  make  an  address  at  the  dedication  of  the 
Confederate  Military  Cemetery  at  Hagerstown. 

For,  loving  hands  had  gathered  up  the  remains 
of  the  brave  Southrons  who  died  at  Sharps- 
burg,  at  South  Mountain,  Boonsboro,  and  Keedys- 
ville,  as  well  as  Falling  Waters. 

A  dinner  was  given  to  several  of  the  visiting 
dignitaries  at  the  nearest  mansion  house  to  the 
now  consecrated  grounds. 

Major  Beverley  was  enjoying  his  after-dinner 
cigar  with  his  host,  when  the  ceremonial  festivi- 
ties were  over,  and  the  two  "  talked  war  a  bit,'' 
as  was  the  fashion  of  those  days.  For  now,  a 
generation  has  arisen  which  knows  not  Joseph  ! 
The  old  soldier  is  relegated  to  obscurity,  and  the 
oceans  of  costly  blood  shed  in  a  vain  struggle  to 
settle  the  unsettled  enigma  of  the  blacks  seem  to 
have  been  forgotten,  save  in  family  tradition ! 

Suddenly  Beverley  walked  up  to  a  cabinet, 
which  w^as  one  of  the  pit ?ces  de  resistance  of  the  li- 
brary. It  needed  but  a  glance  to  tell  him  that  the 
lost  was  found  ! 

"  Pray  tell  me,  Colonel  Houghton,  where  you 
obtained  this  beautiful  old  piece  of  furniture," 
said  the  Congressman,  with  a  thrill  of  Loving 
awakening  memories. 

''That,"   laughed   his   host,  "  is  about   the    only 


226    THE    SECRET    OF    DOCTOR    HARPER'S    CABINET 

thing    I    made,  as   a   clear  profit   by   the    war !  " 

"  Some  of  McClellan's  excellent  artillerists 
shelled  my  old  home  into  flames,  and  the  Federal 
soldiers  swept  over  my  farm  like  the  proverbial 
Tartar,  whose  horse's  hoof  marks  a  period  to  all 
future  fertility.  I  was  skinned  alive!"  The  Mary- 
lander  "  sighed  his  reminiscences."  "  But,  this 
beautiful  old  cabinet  was  brought  out  of  the  Shen- 
andoah Valley  by  a  good-natured  Yankee  quarter- 
master, who  told  me  he  found  it  in  an  old  mansion 
where  every  other  portable  thing  had  been  carried 
off.  Some  marauders  burned  the  old  place  after- 
ward, and,  as  he  was  Depot  Quartermaster  at  Hag- 
erstown  for  along  while, we  exchanged  some  civili- 
ties. He  gave  it  to  me,  as  it  was  far  too  massive 
to  send  north,  and  really  begged  me  to  try  and 
find  an  owner.  "  You  see  there's  a  coat  of  arms 
on  the  hatchings." 

"  So  there  is,  Colonel — mine  !"  quietly  said  Major 
Beverley,  handing  his  host  his  seal  ring. 

That  night,  when  the  guests  had  departed,  the 
two  Southern  friends,  aided  by  the  drawing,  suc- 
ceeded in  opening  the  long  hidden  secret  drawer, 
four  feet  long  and  about  six  inches  wide. 

The  sum  of  five  thousand  dollars  in  gold  five 
dollar  pieces  was  found  secreted  carefully  there, 
the  coins  being  wrapped  in  rouleaux  and  the 
packages  padded  to  prevent  a  jingling  noise. 

There  was  also,  an  envelope  with  a  deposit 
receipt  of  Coutts  &  Child's  Bank,  London,  for  two 
thousand  pounds  in  gold  to  the  joint  and  several 


THE    SECRET    OF    DOCTOR    HARPERS    CAB  IN  El     J27 

order  of  the  uncle  and  nephew,  and  the  deeds  to 

several  hundred  acres  ofcoal  lands  in  Kentucky 
which  had  been  a  notable  family  invest  nienl .  A  will 
bequeathing  the  whole  to  St.  George  I  [arper  Bev- 
erley was  the  last  article  concealed  in  the  drawer. 

"I  trust  that  the  old  home  will  be  spared, 
and,  that  1  may  live  to  see  you  return  in  honor!  " 
so  ran  the  last  letter  of  the  keen-sighted  old 
doctor.  "  If  Doctor  Hall  sees  fit,  he  may  n  - 
move  and  conceal  these  matters  in  a  safer  place, 
but,  I  trust  that  my  age  and  non-combatant  char- 
acter will  serve  to  save  dear  old  Tusculum  from 
the  torch.  I  have  a  fatal  presentiment  that  the 
South  will  not  win  !  Sheer  exhaustion  of  material 
resource  and  population  will  turn  the  scale  against 
us  in  a  long  war.  My  only  hope  is  in  some  brilliant 
Southern  general  conquering  a  peace  by  some 
great  blow !" 

The  men  turned  their  eyes  away  with  bitter 
tears,  for  Stonewall  Jackson's  name  came  back 
like  the  mournful  sigh  of  the  wind  through  the 
pines!  Had  he  lived  to  command  the  great  charge 
at  Gettysburg,  a  peace  might  have  followed  the  suc- 
cess of  that  thunderbolt  of  war !  But,  it  was  <  >t  her- 
wise  ordained  !  And,  later,  when  Major  Beverley 
sold  the  coal  lands  for  a  half  a  million  dollars,  a 
new  mansion  rose  on  the  olden  site,  and  a  fair- 
faced  Virginian  wife  often  told  her  children  the 
story  of  the  secret  of  the  old  Doctor's  cabinet, 
which  was  "  Home  again  !  " 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  SERGEANT 
ARMAND    CAIRE 

BY 

RICHARD  HENRY  SAVAGE 


sneath's  mean  yellow  eyes  followed  the  sergeant  around 


THE    MYSTERY      OE    SER- 
GEANT ARMAND  CAIRE. 


There  was  no  doubt  that  Sergeant  Armand  Cairc 
of  "  Ours,"  was  a  walking  mystery,  and  a  very 
handsome  mystery,  too.  Seated  in  my  quarters  at 
our  battalion  headquarters  at  Ro well's  Point,  I 
often  followed  his  alert  soldierly  figure,  as  with 
springing  step  he  crossed  the  parade.  "Some 
mystery  locked  up  under  your  shell  jacket,  my 
good-looking  French  friend,"  I  decided,  "and — 
a  very  well-guarded  secret,  too." 

Many  a  meditative  pipe  I  smoked,  while  idly 
watching  the  silver  yacht  sails  flit  by  on  the 
Sound,  or  listening  to  the  music  floating  over  the 
tranquil  waters  from  the  great  Fall  River  summer 
boats.  I  was  young  to  the  service  myself,  impul- 
sive, generous,  and  ardent  at  twenty-three.  I  had 
observed  the  many  accomplishments  of  the  Gallic 
stranger  who  had  worked  himself  up  from  recruit 
to  first-class  private,  corporal,  and  sergeant  in  two 
years. 

In  my  cozy  Lieutenant's  cottage  1  tain  would 
have  sent  for  Armand  Caire  and  tendered  him  the 
use  of  my  books,  papers,  and  the  little  adjuncts 
which  make  garrison  life  pass  lightly  away.   Th< 


2$2    THE    MYSTERY   OF   SERGEANT   ARMAND    CAIRE 

was,  however,  a  limit  to  polite  intrusion,  and  the 
young  Gaul  knew  how  to  hold  his  tongue.  He 
was  the  very  picture  of  a  soldier.  Thirty  or  thirty- 
three,  brown,  sinewy,  of  active  and  elegant  fig- 
ure, his  mustache  and  imperial  bespoke  the  pro- 
fessional French  soldier.  He  was  a  correct  and 
fluent  English  scholar,  a  fact  which  surprised  me. 
A  pair  of  steady,  dark  eyes,  an  olive  cheek,  a 
graceful  oval  face,  and  delicate  hands  and  feet 
marked  "  race,"  as  far  as  externals  can  be  safely 
taken  as  guide. 

Of  course,  in  the  sixteen  or  eighteen  battalion 
officers,  there  were  experienced  men  of  our  special 
Corps  who  had  thrown  away  much  useless  previous 
sympathy  on  men  tied  down  in  the  ranks  beneath 
their  station  in  life.  Several  epaulette-bearers 
prophesied  final  disaster  as  the  result  of  Armand 
Caire's  rapid  rise.  There  was  only  first  sergeant 
and  sergeant-major  between  him  and  perhaps  a 
Lieutenancy  in  a  line  Regiment. 

And,  yet  there  were  obstacles !  No  one  in  the 
command  was  ignorant  of  his  thorough  mas- 
tery of  men,  drill,  and  tactics.  His  military  char- 
acter was  irreproachable.  A  delicate  smoker,  he 
avoided  the  sutler's  store,  and  his  leisure  was 
passed  in  athletic  recreation,  in  sketching,  or 
with  his  beloved  violin.  The  elevation  to  a  ser- 
geantry  had  given  him  a  room  of  his  own,  and  a 
very  handsome  sketching  case  and  violin  were 
the  only  ornaments  of  his  den.  A  few  water 
colors  and  some   exquisite   professional   projects 


THE    MYSTERY    OP   SEKGEAN1     \KM.\ND   CAIRK     233 

took  the  place  of  the  cheap  battle  scenes  and 
glimpses  of  womanly  beauty  which  our  "ikhi 
corns''  usually  culled  from  the  illustrated  weeklies 
to  adorn  their  rough  dens. 

On  inspection  tours.  1  passed  through  Sei 
Caire's  room    with  a  mere  perfunctory  glance  of 
approval.     There  was   not   a    photograph,    not   a 
woman's  face,  nothing  to  indicate  that  he  had  any 
life  outside  of  Upton  or  the  Aide  Memoirc. 

One  day,  he  flushed,  as  his  eyes  met  mine,  when 
my  sword  hilt  displaced  a  dainty  volume  of  I  >e- 
Musset's  poems  from  his  drawing  desk.  I  picked 
it  up  hastily  and  could  not  avoid  seeing  the  words 
traced,  in  a  dainty  hand.  u  Marguerite  to  Armand." 
There  was  a  date — but — I  had  seen  all  too  much! 

And,  then,  Armand  Caire's  eves  met  mine,  with 
the  glance  half  pleading,  half  defiant,  which  sealed 
the  door  of  the  tomb  once  more ! 

Our  Sergeants  were  mostly  sturdy,  well  set  up 
Germans,  happy  in  receiving  almost  an  office 
pay  at  home — some  exceptionally  fine  Irish- Ameri- 
cans, and  one  or  two  practical  Americans  of  real 
value,  for  in  our  corps  every  "non  com"  and 
man,  was  required  to  be  an  artificer  of  some  sort. 
And,  a  better  lot  of  men  were  never  gathered 
together.  The  war  was  just  over  and  we  bad 
promoted  up  into  our  double  allowance  ol  Ser- 
geants and  Corporals  many  men  who  would  have 
made  good  commissioned  officers.  In  later  years, 
I  have  marked  their  general  success  in  attaining 
permanent  and  good  stations.    Among  these  men. 


234    THE   MYSTERY   OF  SERGEANT  ARMAND   CAIRE 

Armand  Caire  was  hardly  popular.  He  was  ban 
camarade,  and  yet — he  was  of  another  world  !  The 
army  verdict  upon  "  skeletons  in  the  closet "  is 
usually  a  harsh  one,  and  Sergeant  Caire  was  sup- 
posed to  be  prudently  silent  for  cause.  And  yet, 
he  never  drifted  into  trouble,  he  joined  no  cabals, 
and  was  apparently  as  happy  and  prosperous  as  a 
man  could  be  under  the  yellow  chevrons  of  a  ser- 
geant. 

No  one  had  ever  gained  his  confidence,  and 
no  one  cared  to  press  upon  his  polite  reserve. 
He  took  but  little  leave  of  absence,  and  on  occa- 
sion had  been  seen  at  the  performances  of  the 
better  French  companies  giving  opera  or  drama 
in  New  York  City. 

The  perfect  performance  of  his  duty  and  his 
equable  character  made  him  respected  by  the  men, 
the  officers  learned  to  depend  upon  him,  and,  only 
among  the  ladies  of  the  post,  was  he  a  standing 
object  of  wonderment.  His  taste  in  decoration, 
his  worderful  arts  in  improving  some  pleasure 
grounds,  his  ready  resource  on  all  occasions, 
proved  him  to  be  a  master  of  many  branches  of 
technique. 

All  the  officers  of  our  corps  were  above  pump- 
ing or  following  the  man  up,  and,  but  one  singu- 
larity of  demeanor  was  noticed.  He  always  went 
over  to  the  little  village  postoffice,  a  mile  and  a 
half  away,  and  posted  his  own  letters  himself.  It 
was  impossible  for  him  to  prevent  his  mail  being 
received  "  through   the   usual   channels,"   which 


THE    MYSTERY    OF    bfcftGKANT    A  KM. WD    CM  RE    235 

meant  in  the  Army,  the  Battalion  Quartermaster. 

After  one  of  our  summer  hops,  a  chorus  ofladiefl 
took  up  the  fascinating  subject  of  the  mystery  of 
Sergeant  Armand  Caire. 

"  There's  one  thing  I  do  like  about  him,"  said  a 
very  distinguished  veteran  officer.  "  He  strictly 
minds  his  own  business.  Nearly  all  the  'dis- 
tinguished foreigners '  whom  I  have  met  with  in 
our  service  are  veiled  scamps.  They  usually  are 
pleasant  bootlicks,  and  obsequiously  creep  upon 
the  notice  of  officers  and  their  families.  This  man 
is  a  thoroughbred,  in  his  behavior.  He  certainly 
deserves  promotion  in  time,  and  yet,  there  is  al- 
ways the  real  element  of  'character.'  I  have  in 
fifteen  years  of  Army  life,  been  several  times  fasci- 
nated with  supposed  '  broken  down  '  European 
gentlemen:  Grafs,  Barons,  Chevaliers,  and  Counts, 
'younger  sons'  decidedly  gone  wrong — as  a  rule 
they  '  work  the  sympathy  act,'  and  either  make  a 
snug  nest  by  base  arts,  or,  when  trusted,  decamp 
with  the  post  funds  or  play  some  low  prank.  The 
only  real  4  Lord'  I  ever  discovered,  was  a  rattling 
good  fellow  at  heart  and  a  farrier  in  a  Western 
cavalry  regiment.  When  *  discovered,'  he  flatly- 
declined  '  fatted  calf,'  and  went  on  hammering 
gayly  on  horse  and  mule  shoes,  until  really  plucked 
away  by  the  British  Minister. 

"  He  was  a  jovial  youth  of  a  very  fresh  complex- 
ion, simple  ways,  a  good  soldier,  a  mighty  drink- 
er, and,  he  always  said  that  the  'Texas  bron- 
chos "  were  "  no  end  of  a  lark  !  "     None  of  them 


236   THE   MYSTERY   OF   SERGEANT   ARM  AND    CAIRE 

could  ever  kick  His  Farrier  Lordship  loose !  But, 
bless  you,  he  didn't  want  promotion,  and  he  guyed 
his  own  officers ! 

The  usual  number  of  croakers  went  on  predict- 
ing that  in  due  time  Sergeant  Armand  Caire 
would  "  make  a  break,"  but,  he  never  did!  And 
when  one-fifth  of  our  force  was  suddenly  ordered 
to  California  to  garrison  a  wild  wind-swept  isl- 
and in  San  Francisco  Bay,  thither  went  the  refined 
stranger  as  second  sergeant  of  "  K  "  Co.  On  the 
voyage  out,  in  the  ante-railroad  days,  his  demeanor 
was  perfect.  We  had  taken  in  some  new  men  to 
fill  up  the  roster,  as  second-class  privates,  and 
among  them,  a  few  graceless  souls  who  only 
joined  the  command  of  about  two  hundred,  to  get 
a  comfortable  steamer  passage  to  California,  and 
then  abscond  in  that  Golden  Land. 

The  relaxation  of  discipline  due  to  a  crowded 
steamer,  the  tropical  heat  of  the  Caribbean,  the 
opportunities  of  the  Panama  transit  caused  a  few 
frays  and  disorders  among  the  more  turbulent  of 
these  few  undesirable  men. 

In  one  of  these  ententes,  before  we  had  the  men 
fairly  in  hand  on  the  old  Colorado,  Sergeant  Caire 
was  obliged  to  severely  punish  one  of  the  new  re- 
cruits named  Sneath,  a  sneaking  smart  sea-lawyer 
sort  of  a  fellow,  whose  mean  ways  and  cunning  arts 
led  him  later  into  various  secret  delinquencies. 
The  handsome  Frenchman's  violin  was  greatly  in 
demand,  as  we  glided  along  the  purpled  Mexican 
coast,  and,  one  evening,  after  the  impromptu  con- 


Tin;    MYSTERY    OF    SERGEANT    ARMANI)    CAIRE    »37 

cert  was  over,  a  quartermaster  of  the  steamboat 

took  the  sergeant  aside.  "There's  one  of  vour 
fellows,  that -one,"  and  the  son  of  Neptune  pointed 

out  Sneath,  "  has  sworn  the  most  awful  oaths  t<> 
get  even  with  you.  Look  out  for  a  knife  in  your 
ribs,  some  dark  night.  Watch  that  fellow;  he 
means  mischief,  and  he  is  a  dangerous  dog  !  " 

The  cool  Frenchman  thanked  his  nautical  men- 
tor. "  I  will  watch  him.  I  fancy,  however,  that 
he  will  turn  up  missing  some  day,  out  there,  when 
we  take  post.  He  does  not  look  as  if  he  would 
dare  to  hurt  any  one  !  But,  I'm  obliged  to  you  all 
the  same !" 

To  the  surprise  of  the  command,  Sneath,  upon 
our  arrival  at  our  island  home,  showed  no  disposi- 
tion to  clear  out.  Within  a  month,  he  had  got 
into  "  daily  duty,  postal  clerk,  companv  clerk 
work,  and  quartermaster's  papers,"  as  a  relief  from 
the  soldierly  duties  of  standing  guard,  and  the 
artificers'  work  of  aiding  to  build  that  pretty  post 
where  I  spent  the  three  happiest  years  of  my  life. 

We  soon  lost  a  few  men  whom  we  were  really 
glad  to  drop  from  the  roster,  for  good  new  men  were 
available,  drawn  to  us  by  our  higher  pay,  quicker 
promotion,  and  double  allowance  of  Sergeants  and 
Corporals.  I  had  been  "  Officer  of  the  Day  "  when 
Sneath  was  punished,  and  I  noted  the  relentless 
glare  of  the  eyes  he  turned  upon  the  disciplinary 
sergeant.  So,  feeling  that  black  blood  existed  be- 
tween the  men,  I  narrowly  watched  Sneath's  rapid 
rise  at  the  new  post   to  a  sort  of  general  utility 


238    THE    MYSTERY    OF    SERGEANT   ARMAND    CAIRE 

man.  He  was  a  remarkable  penman,  quick  and 
accurate  at  accounts,  and  soon  drifted  into  a  snug 
clerical  berth,  with  considerable  perquisites,  and 
one  which  only  called  on  him  to  carry  a  gun  once 
in  every  two  months  at  muster.  I  noted  with 
satisfaction  that  this  separated  Sergeant  Caire  and 
his  avowed  enemy,  for  the  steamer  Quarter- 
master had  also  warned,  me  against  some  attempt 
at  crime. 

"  If  it's  ever  anything,  it  will  be  a  knife  stab  in 
the  dark,"  I  muttered,  having  several  times  caught 
Sneath's  mean,  yellow  eyes  following  the  Sergeant 
around.  In  fact,  I  bade  Caire  keep  his  door  locked 
at  night,  as  the  separate  Sergeants'  rooms  in  the 
new  barracks  enabled  him  to  do. 

But,  a  strange  change  in  the  demeanor  of  Ar- 
mand  Caire  soon  became  to  me  a  matter  of  grave 
concern.  As  the  beautiful  new  garrison  neared 
completion,  the  alert  French  soldier  seemed  to  lose 
both  heart  and  self-control.  His  eyes  became  hag- 
gard, his  very  habits  altered,  and  when  not  on 
duty,  I  often  observed  him  pacing  the  sandy 
shores  of  the  lonely  island  like  a  restless  wolf. 

There  was  no  hidden  dissipation,  there  was  no 
apparent  bodily  lesion.  But,  the  lines  of  his  face 
were  grave  and  stern,  and  he  moved  about  his 
duties  as  one  under  a  sentence  of  death.  When 
the  non-commissioned  staff  reported  to  me  that  the 
Sergeant's  barrack  demeanor  was  that  of  an 
utter  hopeless  listlessness,  I  forced  my  nearest 
friend,  our  post-surgeon,  to  send  for  Caire  and 
carefully  examine  him. 


THE    MYSTERY   OF   SERGEAN1    ARMAND    CAIRE    *39 

"  It  beats  me!"  exclaimed  my  housemate,  the 

bothered  son  ot  Esculapius.     "  Six  months  ago,  at 
fencing  drill,  as  general  instructor,  I   thought  1 

never  had  seen  a  more  soldierly  figure.  Some- 
thing, it  seems,  has  gone  out  of  the  man's  life, 
never  to  return!  If  he  would  only  talk,"  sadly 
concluded  Dr.  Wclckcr.  "But  he  has  the  same 
right  to  his  mental  privacy,  as  the  Commander-in- 
Chief.  I  give  it  up,  but  I  will  have  Halton,  our 
English  hospital  steward,  keep  a  good  eye  on  him. 
They  are  great  cronies,  for  Halton  was  in  a  medical 
school  in  Paris." 

Circumstances  made  me  post-commander  for  a 
period  of  five  or  six  weeks  in  the  early  spring 
after  our  arrival,  for  the  four  senior  officers  and 
the  surgeon  went  away  on  a  tour  to  the  Yosemite 

Valley. 

"  Can  I  do  anything  for  you,  Lieutenant?"  said 
the  Brevet-Colonel  in  command,  as  I  was  left  with 
only  my  ten  sergeants,  ten  corporals,  and  one 
hundred  and  fifty  men  to  associate  with.  True, 
there  was  the  hospital  steward,  but,  I  must  look  to 
civilian  visitors  for  my  mind  brightening,  as  my 
golden  epaulettes  barred  me  from  any  close  asso- 
ciation with  my  command. 

"  Yes,  Colonel !  "  I  cried.  "  Take  poor  Sergeant 
Caire  along  with  you.  "  He  will  make  you  some 
exquisite  sketches,  and  be  of  use  to  you.  You 
have  two  or  three  enlisted  men  to  look  after.  He 
will  keep  them  straight." 

"  By  Jove  !     That's  a  good  idea  !     He  has  been 


240    THE    MYSTERY    OF   SERGEANT   ARMAND    CAIRE 

moping,  and  the  man  has  earned  a  bit  of  diversion ! 
His  work  on  our  model  battery  has  been  fault- 
less!" 

A  half  an  hour  later,  I  saw  Sergeant  Caire  walk 
away  from  my  commander's  quarters. 

"  Strange  fellow,  that,"  said  the  Colonel.  "  Proud 
as  a  king — thanked  me — declined  the  billet,  and 
said  he  was  expecting  some  important  communi- 
cations soon.  By  the  way,  you  can  give  him  ten 
days'  leave  of  absence,  while  I  am  away.  If  you  can 
get  him  over  to  San  Francisco,  perhaps  even  a 
few  wholesome  infractions  of  duty,  a  bit  of  a 
"  blow  out,"  may  wake  him  up.  The  man's 
simply  hipped  and  melancholy." 

I  lost  no  time,  after  I  became  the  autocrat  of  the 
island,  in  sending  for  the  "  Silent  Sergeant,"  as  he 
was  now  termed  It  is  strange  how  embarrassed 
I  felt  in  deliberately  trying  to  peep  behind  the 
scenes  of  his  hidden  life.  "  Thank  you,  Lieutenant," 
he  said,  "  I  prefer  not  to  leave  the  island."  He 
saluted,  and  then,  stood  awaiting  his  dismissal,with 
the  air  of  a  man  who  knows  his  personal  rights. 

I  sighed  that  I  could  not  enforce  my  ideas  of 
letting  some  sunlight  in  upon  his  darkened  soul, 
but,  in  our  republican  land,  the  difference  between 
officer  and  soldier  is  a  vast  one.  Even  in  auto- 
cratic Russia,  haughty  Prussia,  or  medieval  Aus- 
tria, the  gulf  is  not  wider.  Our  regulations  seem 
to  have  been  guided  by  the  old  English  "  mutiny 
act,"  and  the  absurd  caste  and  fantastic  notions  in 
vogue  when  our  military  laws  were   copied  from 


THE    MYSTERY    OF    SERGEANT    AKMAND    LAI  KM     241 

the  old  English  purchase  system  rules,  I  trier!  to 
throw  some  brotherly  kindness  into  my  yoi<  <  . 

u  I  am  afraid,  Sergeant  Caire,  you  miss  the  bon- 

hemic  of  the  French  service.  There  are  so  many 
gentlemen,"  I  emphasized  the  word,  "who  think 
they  can  speedily  rise  to  a  commission,  here,  by 
enlisting  and  then  working  their  way  up.  We  are 
'plus  aristocrates  que  Us  vrais  aristocrat  est  And, 
yet,  in  an  Infantry  or  Cavalry  regiment,  you  might 
rise,  in  a  few  years.  Have  you  no  friends  in  the 
country?"  The  man  was  ten  years  my  senior, 
and  he  could  see  my  boyish  kindness  struggling 
for  utterance. 

"Not  a  friend  in  the  world, — but — you,  Mon 
Lieutenant !" 

He  smiled  sadly,  as  1  blurted  out,  "  If  you 
would  only  tell  me — I  see  that  you  are  unhappy — 
I  might  help  you." 

"  Ah  !  Monsieur  !  "  he  softly  said,  "  some  sorrows 
lie  too  deep  for  words.  I  have  no  future, — the 
past  is  voiceless — now.  Pray  excuse  me.  I  shall 
never  forget  your  kindness.  I  have  been  a  gen- 
tleman— I  don't  deny  it !  " 

It  was  in  my  private  room  that  our  hands  met, 
as  I  impulsively  cried  :  "  And — you  will  be  one 
always  !  If  you  feel  the  need  of  a  friend,  come  to 
me,  send  for  me  to  your  room  at  barracks,  and  I 
will  do  what  I  can." 

"  I  shall  never  forget  your  noble  words,"  he 
said.  "  If  I  ever  cross  the  line,  it  will  only  be  to 
confide  in  you.     And  the  reason  why  I  sought  your 


242    THE    MYSTERY    OF   SERGEANT   ARMAND    CAIRE 

Corps  for  service  was  the  officers  are  all  men  of  dis- 
tinction, and  I  have  been  treated  like  a  man." 

He  was  gone  after  I  had  vainly  pleaded  again 
to  induce  him  to  take  the  ten  days'  leave  and  have 
a  little  run. 

Four  weeks  from  that  day,  I  walked  down  the 
parade  to  make  a  critical  inspection  of  the  double 
company  anent  the  return  of  the  chief.  A  wild, 
unnerving  California  wind  was  whistling  over  the 
island.  It  was  one  of  the  days  when  men's  minds 
and  tempers  go  strangely  awry ! 

To  my  astonishment,  Sergeant  Armand  Caire 
was  reported  absent !  It  was  the  first  offense  ever 
marked  up  of  the  kind.  Turning  to  a  file  closer,  I 
ordered  him  to  step  over  to  the  barracks  and  turn 
out  the  delinquent.  "  I've  tried  his  room,  sir  "  re- 
ported the  First  Sergeant.  "  Both  doors  are  tightly 
locked!" 

With  a  sudden  misgiving,  I  left  the  company  at 
parade  rest,  and  beckoning  to  the  First  Sergeant, 
entered  the  narrow  hallway  leading  to  the  two 
sergeants'  rooms  facing  each  other. 

Rapping  smartly  on  his  door  with  the  pommel 
of  my  drawn  sword,  I  sharply  cried,  "  Sergeant 
Caire ! " 

There  was  a  clear  response  "  Here  !  "  and  then, 
rang  out  a  deafening  report.  The  First  Sergeant 
and  I  leaped  at  the  door  with  a  common  impulse 
of  shoulders.     It  gave  way  with  a  crash  ! 

There  on  the  bed,  dressed  in  his  full  uniform,  lay 
the  soldier  who  had  answerd  "  Here  !  "  for  the  last 
time  on  earth ! 


THE    MYSTERY    01     SERG1   \ "  -i     VRMAND   CAIRE    243 

He  was  dead,  and  upon  the  table  lay  a  pack 
age  marked  with  my  name.  M  Suicide  I  "  cried  the 
startled  Orderly  Sergeant. 

I  sent  the  Sergeant   on  the  run  to  send  me  the 

hospital     steward     and     the     post-guard     with    a 
stretcher. 

"  I've  been  afraid  of  this  for  some  time,  sir," 
said  Ilalton,  as  he  dropped  the  nerveless  arm. 
"Poor  Armand!  He  is  gone.  Time  expired — 
now!"  With  a  desire  to  trace  the  mysterious 
cause,  I  sent  the  Sergeant  to  inspect  and  dismiss 
the  company.  Halton  and  I  made  a  thorough 
private  search  of  the  room.  There  was  nothing 
save  the  fragments  of  a  tattered  letter  on  which 
I   could  trace  the  word  "  Marguerite." 

Under  my  own  eyes,  the  dead  soldier's  belong- 
ings were  sealed  up,  and  deposited  in  a  doubly 
locked  vacant  room  in  my  own  quarters  to  await 
the  commander's  return.  I  decided  not  to  open 
the  package  addressed  to  me  until  then,  from 
motives  of  official  delicacy. 

As  became  my  duty,  two  days  later,  we  buried 
the  unhappy  man,  with  full  martial  honors,  upon 
the  bleak  hillside  of  the  storm-lashed  north  side 
of  the  island,  and  a  fresh  red  mound  met  the  eyes 
of  my  astonished  chief  on  his  return. 

I  reported  all  but  one  little  incident,  the  last 
being  that  when  the  company  broke  ranks  after 
the  soldier's  volleys  three  had  been  fired  for  the 
poor  French  exile,  Sncath  had  mockingly  cried. 
u  and  so,    good-by— for  good— Mr.   Johnny    Cra- 


244    THE    MYSTERY    OF   SERGEANT   ARMAND    CAIRE 

paud,"  for  which  brutality,  Sergeant  Dennis 
O'Brien,  a  warm-hearted  Celt,  promptly  adminis- 
tered a  wholesome  beating,  which  was  passed  over 
by  the  commanding  officer,  viz.,  myself! 

When  the  chief  returned,  I  begged  the  instruc- 
tions of  that  delicate-minded  gentleman  as  to  Ser- 
geant Armand  Caire's  still  unopened  packet.  "  It 
was  his  own  choice  that  you — and  no  one  else 
should  receive  that  packet.  I  have  no  instruc- 
tions to  give  you.  Use  your  honor  as  an  officer, 
and  your  sense  of  gentlemanly  obligation.  If 
there  is  aught  you  should  report  to  me,  you  know 
your  duty." 

I  unfastened  the  sealed  parcel  with  trembling 
fingers  in  my  own  room.  As  I  fancied,  it  was  the 
little  copy  of  De  Musset's  poems.  There  was  an 
envelope  in  which  he  had  traced  these  lines: 

"  I  wished  you  to  have  the  little  book.  I 
thought  of  your  kindness — even  at  the  last.  If 
you  ever  go  to  Europe — see  these  two  ladies. 
Alas !  They  have  both  forgotten  poor  Armand. 
If  you  can  communicate  with  them,  do  so.  I  have 
failed  to  receive  any  replies  to  my  letters,  for 
nearly  a  year !  " 

On  one  of  the  cards,  was  penciled  the  words 
"  My  sister."  And  the  other,  bore  the  name  of 
of  the  Countess  de  Couci,  an  degante  of  the  best 
Parisian  circles. 

A  month  later,  my  official  duties  were  to  auction 
off  the  sketch  case  and  violin  of  the  dead  gentle- 
man, as  by  due  operation  of  law.     I  had  decided 


THE   MYSTERY   Of  SERGEANT  ARMANI)  CAIRE    245 

to  have  the  violin  bid  in  for  our  commander  as  a 
personal  relic,  but,  when  the  yellow-eyed  Sneatfa 
bid  forty  dollars  for  the  sketching  case,  I  firmly 
met  his  cowardly  eve.  After  a  snappy  conflict,  I 
obtained  it  at  ninety.  And,  the  neat  stone  and 
substantial  fence  around  the  poor  fellow's  grave- 
were  thus  provided  for. 

I  passed  long  nights  wondering  why  Sneatfa 
should  have  come  to  the  front  for  the  possession 
of  the  case,  in  which  I  found  not  a  single  paper. 
It  was  a  beautiful  Winsor  &  Newton  artists'  case 
of  the  very  best  quality.  I  was  puzzled,  but  an 
ugly  feeling  took  possession  of  me  when  I  later 
received  from  Paris  two  heart-broken  letters. 
The  sister  of  my  dead  friend  boldly  charged  that 
her  brother's  letters  had  been  stolen  for  several 
months.  There  were  several  five-hundred-franc 
billets  de  banquc  in  them.  And,  the  sweet-faced 
Countess  de  Couci,  before  the  roses  had  bloomed 
twice  upon  his  grave,  had  told  me  all  the  sad 
story  of  Captain  Armand  de  Gainville,  of  the  ETtat 
Major  of  one  of  the  French  Divisions  in  Algeria. 
An  unfortunate  duel  of  honor,  in  which  asociallv 
powerful  antagonist  had  been  slain,  caused  him  to 
flee  to  America. 

"  We  were  sure  of  his  pardon  from  our  gra- 
cious Imperatrice,  but,  he  had  madly  enlisted  in 
your  service  and  so,  was  tied  down  for  five  years! 
We  feared  to  bring  about  his  punishment  by  taking 
steps  for  his  public  discharge — and  his  enemies 
must  have  found  him  out !     I  always  wrote  to  him 


246    THE    MYSTERY    OF    SERGEANT   ARMAND    CAIRE 

twice  a  month  !  We  were  preparing  to  visit  Cali- 
fornia incognito,  for  his  heart-rending  letters  some- 
times reached  us.  Who  was  his  enemy  ?  May  God 
reward  him  for  breaking  two  loving  women's 
hearts.     Arm  and  was  to  have  been  my  husband !  " 

I  dared  not  indulge  my  suspicions  and,  I  dared 
not  tell  them  that  he  died  a  suicide  !  The  work  of 
the  scoundrel  who  drove  Sergeant  Armand  Caire 
to  madness  had  been  but  too  well  done. 

Five  years  later,  on  the  eve  of  a  departure  to 
Europe,  I  was  hurriedly  summoned  to  a  city  hospi- 
tal to  see  a  poor  wretch  who  had  been  crushed  by 
some  falling  timbers.  It  was  Sneath,  the  dis- 
charged soldier !  The  moment  when  he  saw  me, 
he  covered  his  face  and  groaned,  "  It's  all  up  with 
me  now!  I  may  as  well  tell  you  all!  I  robbed 
Sergeant  Caire's  letters  to  get  even.  I  was  in  the 
quartermaster's  office,  I  handled  the  mail,  I  stole 
his  outgoing  letters,  too  ;  and,  I  got  eight  hundred 
dollars  out  of  the  French  letters.  But,  his  face 
always  haunted  me  !"  He  whispered  to  me  where 
he  had  hidden  them.  "  Let  the  women  have  the 
letters  he  wrote.  God  may  have  mercy  on  me, 
now  !  "  With  a  low  groan,  his  spirit  passed,  and 
the  mystery  of  Sergeant  Armand  Caire  was  at 
an  end !  I  saw  the  two  loving  women  later,  happy 
even  in  their  sorrow,  when  1  gave  them  the  last 
words  of  their  loved  one. 


How  We  Court=martialed 
Sergeant   Maloney 

BY 
RICHARD  HENRY  SAVAQE 


HE   WAS   ALL  THERE,    BUT   SLIGHTLY    SCATTERED 


HOW  WE   COURT-MARTIAL- 
ED SERGEANT    MA- 
LONEY. 


It  is  nearly  thirty  years  since  the  fate  of  Ser- 
geant Michael  Maloney,  the  ranking  duty  Ser- 
geant of  "K"  company  of  the  battalion  of 
Regulars  to  which  I  was  attached,  trembled  in  the 
balance  before  a  stern  Garrison  Court-martial.  I 
unloose  the  gates  of  Memory,  and  forgetting  my 
silvered  hair  and  wrinkled  brow,  see  myself,  once 
more,  the  slim  Lieutenant  bending  under  the 
aueust  honors  of  Recorder  of  that  memorable 
tribunal. 

It  was  upon  a  distant  and  lonely  shore,  far  trom 
the  gray-castled  fortress  of  West  Point,  where  we 
assembled  to  try  the  "  malignant";  in  fact,  a  few 
miles  further  west,  would  have  plumped  our 
double  company  out  into  the  blue  Pacific  ocean. 
From  our  sterile  island  in  the  harbor  of  San  Fran- 
cisco, we  could  gaze  out  through  the  Golden 
Gate  and  mark  the  happy  ships  "  whose  cou: 
had  run,  from  lands  of  snows  to  lands  of  sun.'" 
The  storm  flag  upon  old  Fort  Point,  streaming 
out  in  defiance  of  all  the  world  and  his  brother, 
cheered    me   by    day.       I    was    "blushing    under 


250      HOW  WE  COURT-MARTIALED  SERGEANT  MALONEY 

budding  honors"  in  those  fall  days  of  "sixty- 
eight,"  and,  while  by  day,  the  golden  sheen  of  my 
staff  epaulettes  and  the  martial  clank  of  my  sword 
reminded  me  that  I  was  no  longer  a  book-de- 
vouring Cadet,  the  dragging  over  that  rocky  isle 
inspecting  sentinels  on  post,  in  the  midnight  hours 
through  sleet  and  storm,  was  a  gentle  prelude  to 
other  dc'sdgremens  of  the  service.  But,  I  owed  a 
great  debt  to  Uncle  Sam  for  nurture  and  educa- 
tion and,  in  my  poor  way,  I  was  then  beginning  to 
pay  it  off  by  installments,  which  have  since 
stretched  out  to  ten  long  years,  in  various  duties 
and  changing  stations,  military  and  civil. 

The  junior  of  four  commissioned  officers  at- 
tached to  the  double  company,  my  modest  rank 
gave  me  the  exclusive  privilege  of  being  Recorder 
of  this  memorable  court,  and  copying  neatly  in- 
terminable folios  of  "  proceedings  "  from  my 
own  notes  laboriously  penciled  in  the  Court.  I 
had  a  monopoly  of  the  work,  the  Brevet  Colonel 
and  Post  Commander  wore  the  "  brow  of  Jove," 
and  my  two  First  Lieutenants  evidently  enjoyed 
the  studious  Second  Lieutenant's  labors,  while 
they  whiled  away  their  leisure  in  sketching 
the  "  trembling  malefactors  "  and  the  "  indefati- 
gable Recorder."  I  drew  a  "  full  hand  "  at  duty, 
when  I  reported  on  that  island,  "  fresh  from  the 
Academy."  Post  Adjutant,  Post  Treasurer,  Drill 
Master,  Officer  of  the  Day,  and  a  few  more 
"functions"  made  me  believe  that  "life  was  earnest, 
life  was  real,"  "  when  I  first  put  the  uniform  on ! " 


HOW  WE  COURT-MARTIALED  SERGEANT  MALONEY      25  I 

A  multiplicity  of  little  odds  and  ends  fell  to  my 
share,  and  my  first  "Court-martial"  is  recalled 
to-day  by  a  memory  of  the  pride  with  which  I 
donned  the  golden  epaulettes  and  cocked  hat,  with 
strict  full  dress,  for  the  first  time  on  duty.  The 
fact  that  I  had  sported  my  entire  regalia,  less 
sword  and  spurs,  at  the  swellest  ball  of  the  season 
in  San  Francisco  did  not  count.  I  was  only  called 
to  that  "  pahty,"  to  exhibit  the  perfections  in  the 
dance  of  some  of  "  California's  fairest  daughters, 
but,  when  we  court-martialed  Sergeant  Michael 
Maloney  I  was  "  on  duty,"  and,  I  deeply  regretted, 
being  a  "  mounted  officer,"  that  I  had  no  charger 
to  ride  the  three  hundred  yards  from  "  Officers' 
Row  "  to  the  barrack  room  hall,  where  poor 
Maloney  writhed  under  my  accusing  eye,  as  I 
read  the  charges  and  specifications  against  him  in 
an  appropriately  hollow  voice  ! 

Courts-martial  are  very  solemn  tribunals. 
The  memories  of  the  quick  dispatch  of  the  high- 
souled  Nathan  Hale,  the  stern  adjudication  of  the 
fate  of  the  gallant  and  unfortunate  Andre,  the 
"  maimed  rites "  of  the  council  condemning  the 
chivalric  Due  d'Enghien,  the  mutiny  of  the  Norc, 
and  the  awful  tragedy  of  the  brig  Somcrs,m?iy  recur 
to  some  of  my  readers.  The  doom  adjudged 
by  these  stern  tribunals  is  apt  to  be  as  merciless  as 
the  swing  of  the  scimetar  of  a  Bashi-Bazouk,  ami 
I  have  always  greatly  respected  the  acumen  of 
Monsieur  le  Marechal  Bazaine  in  slipping  away 
at  night  and  reaching  Spain  safely  before  the  mili- 


252      HOW  WE  COURT-MARTIALED  SERGEANT  MALONEY 

tary  executioners  of  France  reached  out  for  him 
to  execute  an  ex  post  facto  sentence  of  death. 

I  was  fresh  from  the  extremely  entertaining  lec- 
tures of  Professor  French  and  Major  General 
Alexander  S.  Webb  at  West  Point  when  we 
court-martialed  the  unfortunate  Maloney.  Not 
only  the  lectures  of  these  great  expounders  of 
military  law  were  fresh  in  my  ardent  mind,  but 
much  lore  extracted  from  Halleck,  Kent,  De  Hart, 
Benet,  and  many  other  now  by  me,  forgotten 
"  authorities."  I  had  listened  with  awe  for  four 
long  years  to  trie  reading  of  the  "  Articles  of 
War,"  and,  I  had  observed  with  pain  that  there 
were  just  ninety-nine  of  them,  and  that  many  of 
them  ominously  ended  "  to  be  shot  to  death  with 
musketry."  "  That's  a  very  neat  way  of  putting  it, 
Savage,"  had  remarked  laughing  Benny  Hodgson 
to  me  on  one  occasion  at  West  Point,  when  a  local 
excitement  in  the  corps  of  cadets  had  caused 
Colonel  Henry  W.  Black,  U.  S.  Army,  "to  favor 
us  with  his  company  at  dinner,"  for  the  purpose 
of  reading,  in  a  rich  rolling  voice,  those  same  very 
ably  drawn  articles !  When  Colonel  Black  pre- 
pared to  lead  away  his  half  dozen  staff  officers  and 
leave  us  to  our  interrupted  meal,  he  briskly  turned 
around  to  deliver  a  last  word  of  cheer.  "  You 
have  heard  the  articles,  young  gentlemen  !  They 
will  be  strictly  carried  out  to  the  letter,  if  there 
is  any  more  trouble !  "  I  pause  here  to  say  that 
"  there  was  no  more  trouble,"  but,  laughing  Benny 
retorted,  sotto  voce,  "  It  seems  if  the  enemy  don't 
shoot  us,  our  friends  will !  " 


HOW  WE  COURT-MAR  11 A I  in  SKRr.KANl   MALONEV      253 

Poor  Benny  Hodgson  !  It  was  only  eight  years 
after  that  remark  when  he  was  obligingly  " shd 
to  death  with  musketry"  by  the  grim  Sioux  war- 
riors on  the  Rosebud,  as  he  bravely  held  the  ford 
in  front  of  Reno's  Hill,  at  the  Little  Big  Horn 
laying  down  his  life  in  its  youthful  flower  to  save 
the  wounded  of  his  command  from  the  scalping 
knife  !  The  Seventh  Cavalry  lost  its  brightest 
face  when  Benny  died ! 

And  so,  with  a  knowledge  of  the  gravity  of  mili- 
tary law,  I  was  in  a  serious  mood  when  I  took  my 
seat  at  the  Recorder's  table  to  administer  this 
lex  talionis  in  the  case  of  the  recusant  Sergeant 
Michael  Maloney  "  and  such  other  prisoners  as 
might  be  properly  brought  before  the  Court." 
The  Company  Clerk  had  arranged  all  in  due  order 
in  the  "fair  chamber  looking  east."  There  was 
store  of  foolscap  paper  and  lakelets  of  ink.  Books, 
authorities,  and  Army  Regulations  were  there  to 
serve  as  "  lamps  to  my  feet."  I  do  not  yet  know 
who  added  "  Charles  O'Malley,"  "  Laus  Veneris," 
by  Algernon  Charles  Swinburne — The  Nautical 
Ephemeris, — and  the  San  Francisco  City  Direc- 
tory to  my  official  books,  but  a  beautiful  "  Treatise 
Upon  the  Resection  of  the  Hip  Joint"  (with 
plates)  led  me  to  believe  that  the  Post  Surgeon 
kindly  wished  to  help  me  out  ! 

I  was  u  helped  out  "  for  a  year  or  more  in  many 
ways  on  joining  my  command  by  those  u  seniors  " 
who  seem  to  delight  "  to  make  things  pleasant  for 
a  young  graduate."     If  they  did  not  always  sue- 


254      HOW  WE  COURT-MARTIALED  SERGEANT  MALONEY 

ceed,  they  tried  to,  and — so,  we  will  let  it  go  at 
that! 

At  parade,  the  evening  before,  I  had  read  the 
solemn  order  of  the  Post  Commander  convening 
the  Court,  and  every  man  jack  of  the  four  pla- 
toons quivered  visibly  at  my  impressive  manner 
of  rendering  the  will  of  our  "  war  lord !  "  He  was 
only  a  Brevet  Colonel,  but  he  ranked  us  all  out  of 
sight,  and  as  Post  Commander,  we  were  the 
"  sheep  of  his  pasture,"  and  as  far  as  peace  of  mind 
goes,  he  held  us  "  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand."  No 
civilian  can  understand  the  dread  black  shadow 
of  the  Commander's  displeasure  hanging  over  the 
unfortunate  officer  or  soldier.  There  are  a 
"thousand  and  one"  delightful  "  Arabian  nights" 
and  days  of  torture  which  a  Commander  can  in- 
flict, and,  even  now  as  I  write,  I  recall  the  wide- 
spread pleasure  in  a  "  gallant  Regiment "  of  our 
army  to  see  its  Commander  go  up  to  the  well- 
merited  stars.  But,  as  he  has  made  regimental 
life  one  glad,  sweet  song  and  dance  for  the  whole 
period  since  the  war,  they  rejoice  as  one  man, 
and  now  feel  that  the  "  weary  are  at  rest !  " 

Denied  the  unfeigned  pleasure  of  hearing  Mr. 
Gounod's  very  proper  "  Marche  Funebre"  appro- 
priately rendered  "  by  the  band "  over  his  cold 
"  corpus,"  the  officers  of  this  happy  Regiment  can 
only  remember  that  "  parting  is  such  sweet  sor- 
row," and,  with  one  voice,  decide  to  omit  the 
" loving  cup"  presentation  which  seems  to  spread 
over  our  benighted  land  like  the  march  of  the 


HOW  WE  COURT-MARTIALED   IERGEAN1   MALONEV      255 

Canada  thistle,  or  the  twin  blessings  of    bloomers 
and  bicycles  ! 

In  that  Light-hearted  Regiment  to-day,  many  a 
man  in  reading  the  order  promoting  their  "stem 
Commander  "  will  realize  the  beauties  of  those 
last  lines  penned  by  Thackeray's  master  hand : 
"  And,  my  heart  throbbed  with  an  exquisite  bliss  !  " 

At  the  parade  when  I  thundered  forth  the 
bringing  to  the  bar  of  the  unlucky  Maloney,  every 
man  of  the  command  knew  that  the  Post  Com- 
mander u  had  it  in  "  for  the  Sergeant.  He  was 
"in  close  confinement"  in  his  barrack  room, — only 
spared  the  disgrace  of  the  guard  house.  For,  the 
three  yellow  stripes  of  the  Sergeant's  chevrons 
were  still  upon  his  manly  arms.  He  could  not  be 
deprived  of  them  without  "  due  course  of  law," 
for  he  had  a  warrant  signed  by  our  distinguished 
Battalion  Commander,  a  Major  General  of  the 
piping  times  when  the  Stars  and  Bars  flew  in  defi- 
ance of  the  extremely  energetic  Mr.  Edwin  M. 
Stanton,  and  greatly  to  that  gentleman's  daily  an- 
noyance. Though  Michael  Maloney,  by  a  figment 
of  the  law,  languished  like  Eugene  Aram,  "  with 
gyves  upon  his  wrists,"  he  was  simply  interned  in 
barracks.  He  was  not  as  sadly  off  as  that  pitiable 
creation  of  the  great  magician  Kipling,  the  abject 
'  Danny  Deever,"  whose  uniform  was  torn  off  and 
buttons  cut  away.  But  the  sorrowing  son  of  Erin, 
Michael  Maloney  "  of  Ours"  was  in  the  toils,  for 
all  that ! 

It's  verv  vvell   for  Messrs,  Gilbert  and   Sullivan 


256      HOW  WE  COURT-MARTIALED  SERGEANT  MALONEY 

to  airily  remark  "  Never  mind  the  why  and  where- 
fore." The  "  why  and  wherefore  '5  threatened  to 
reduce  Michael  Maloney  to  the  ranks,  to  drop  his 
pay  from  forty-three  dollars  a  month  to  nothing — 
and  to  affix  a  ten-pound  ball  by  a  ten-foot  chain  to 
his  robust  Milesian  leg. 

The  prospect  of  Maloney  spending  the  rest  of 
his  enlistment  in  assisting  the  ingenious  officers  of 
the  Corps  of  Engineers  to  transform  Alcatraz 
Island  into  a  gun  platform  was  strictly  in  the  line 
of  his  profession,  but  while  they  labored  with  level 
and  theodolite,  he,  as  a  military  prisoner,  if  con- 
victed, would  operate  a  wheelbarrow,  under  the 
guard  of  a  sentinel,  and  sleep  in  a  cold  cell  with 
forfeited  pay,  a  dishonorable  discharge,  and 
meagre  rations  of  truly  Spartan  simplicity. 

In  the  evening,  before  Maloney's  trial  the  three 
juniors  gathered  in  my  quarters  to  discuss  the 
forthcoming  Court  proceedings.  Three  handsome 
double  houses  were  the  homes  of  five  bachelor 
officers,  the  Commandant  dwelling  in  awful  majesty 
alone  in  one  of  them.  It  was  due  to  the  presence 
of  the  Surgeon,  my  house  mate,  that  some  "  facts 
as  to  Maloney  "  were  judiciously  sowed  on  fertile 
ground — cast,  as  it  were,  like  bread  upon  the  bitter 
waters  of  Marah  then  engulfing  the  luckless 
Sergeant. 

I  can  recall  the  winning  face  of  our  senior 
First,  who  was  to  be  President  of  this  Garrison 
Court.  Poor  Jack  !  The  only  human  realization 
of  an  Ouida  hero  whom  I  ever  met!     He  had  all 


HOW  WE  COURT-MARTIALED    »ERG1   \m   IfALONEY     257 

the  talents — all  the  graces !  "  Alcibiades  "  I  fondly 

nicknamed  him.  Spirited,  daring,  and  graceful,  he 
always  affected  the  absence  of  heart,  and  yet,  in  a 
few  brief  years,  he  ran  the  race  of  life,  and  died 
untimely,  leaving  before  him  a  half-finished  written 
message  to  the  woman  whom  he  loved,  the  last 
thing  he  saw  in  life  !  Not  in  battle  or  storm  did 
he  lay  down  his  life  of  promise,  and  more  than  one 
heart  was  broken  when  handsome  Jack  died  alone  ! 

The  second  member  was  a  man  with  a  heart  of 
gold  and  of  a  taciturn  demeanor;  for  the  promise  of 
his  distinguished  career  was  then  hidden  in  his 
level  head.  I,  as  the  junior,  let  my  superiors  go 
over  the  ground  and  kept  silent. 

There  was  no  possible  discussion  as  to  the  facts 
in  the  case  of  Sergeant  Michael  Maloney.  When 
"  Buster  "  (our  second)  knocked  out  his  pipe  and 
strolled  awray  to  bed,  he  sadly  said  :  "  I'm  afraid 
poor  Maloney  is  in  for  it !  "  And  yet  the  senior,  the 
Surgeon,  and  I  lingered,  in  a  chat,  artfully  drawn 
out  by  the  kind  hearted  Doctor,  an  Irishman,  him- 
self. 

It  was  the  old,  old  story  !  There  was  no  woman 
in  the  case,  although  the  military  Pandora  after- 
ward fumbled  in  her  box  and  gave  us  a  good- 
looking  woman  of  humble  rank  on  that  island  who 
kicked  up  as  much  rumpus  as  that  classic  member 
of  the  ha ut  canaille,  Helen  of  Troy  ! 

Take  the  story  of"  honest  Michael  Cassio,"  and 
substitute  "  Mike  Maloney."  for  Othello's  ancient, 
and  "  the  incident  is  closed,"  as  the  Frenchman 
aptly  says. 


258      HOW  WE  COURT-MARTIALED  SERGEANT  MALONEY 

A  few  days  before  the  council,Sergeant  Maloney 
had  departed  on  a  three  days'  pass  for  San  Fran- 
cisco, and  he  was  then  a  miracle  of  military  neat- 
ness! His  well-brushed  dark  and  light  blue 
uniform,  his  gleaming  shoulder  scales,  the  pride  of 
his  heart ;  his  yellow  chevrons  and  blue  service 
stripes,  his  artfully  polished  military  platter-shaped 
shoes,  his  neat  forage  cap,  all  marked  him  as 
destined  to  play  havoc  with  the  susceptibilities  of 
certain  young  "  colleens "  in  the  city,  whose 
hearts  grew  lighter  when  he  came. 

When  he  sailed  away  on  the  government  steamer 
McPherson  he  had  a  complacent  smile  on  his  face, 
and— alas — a  five-dollar  bill  in  his  pocket !  I  was 
Officer  of  the  Day.  I  received  his  salute,  examined 
his  pass,  and  bade  him  (mentally)  go  forth  to  meet 
his  Norah  Creina,  in  peace,  for  the  paymaster  had 
"  been  around,"  and  Maloney  was  justly  entitled 
to  his  three  days  off. 

We  had  nourished  high  hopes  of  Michael !  The 
Orderly  Sergeant  of  the  double  company,  Hand, 
was  soon  to  be  discharged.  Nothing  but  the  fact 
of  Maloney  being  a  bit  shy  on  "  book  learning  " 
could  prevent  his  promotion  to  the  place  of  the 
retiring  Hand,  and,  adding  a  lozenge  to  his  chev- 
rons and  five  dollars  a  month  to  his  pay.  The 
whole  effective  control  of  the  company  would  pass 
into  Maloney 's  brawny  hands,  and  he  had  well 
earned  the  distinction. 

For,  in  the  dark  days  from  '6i  to  '65,  Michael,  a 
lad  born  of  Irish  parents  in  our  "  regulars,"  nur- 


HOW  \u    C  >'   ;:  l    MARTIAL]  D  51  KG]    \*.  I    MALONEY      259 

hired  as  a  drummer  boy,  had  cheerfully  bitten 
cartridges  and  fired  his  old  Harper's  Ferry  mus- 
ket cheerfully  in  the  face  of  almost  anything  visi- 
ble !    I  [e  remembered  the  flaming  ridgeol  Gaine 

Milis,  the  bloody  slopes  of  Malvern,  the  railroad 
c  ut  at  the  second  Bull  Run,  the  peach  orchard  at 
Antietam,  the  bloody  angle  at  Gettysburg,  and  he 
swore  by  McCletlan,  Fitz  John  Porter,  and  Gen- 
eral Sykes.  Mike  Maloney  was  game  up  to  Appo- 
mattox, and  the  blowing  to  pieces  of  his  comrades 
of  Sykes'  Regular  Brigade,  had  at  last  forced  the 
honors  of  a  Sergeancy  upon  him. 

I  had  seen  him  march  up  the  hill  at  West  Point 
when  the  depleted  command  came  home  from 
the  war,  with  its  ranks  opened  to  show  the  vacant 
places  of  the  lamented  dead,  and  the  band  playing 
"Ain't  You  Glad  to  Get  Out  of  the  Wildernes- 

Now,  I  had  been  Officer  of  the  Day  on  Maloney 's 
return,  and  I  was  astonished  to  see  him  debark  in 
an  unkempt  condition  and  silently  make  his  wax- 
back  to  barracks.  Turning  and  following  his  re- 
treating steps,  candor  forces  me  to  say  that  his 
unsteady  legs  described  the  grapevine  twist !  1 
had  passed  the  regrettable  discovery  over  in 
silence,  and  I  tried  not  to  notice  the  careless  wag- 
ging of  his  curly  pate,  the  vacant  smile  on  his 
honest  face,  and  the  relaxed  mouth,  ordinarily 
snapped  close  in  a  Milesian  triangle.  He  was  -all 
there,"  but  slightly  scattered!  There  were 
dozen  other  soldiers  on  the  boat  returning  from 
pass — and   some  of  them  were  habitual  drinkers, 


260      HOW  WE  COURT-MARTIALED  SERGEANT  MALONEY 

but,  strangely,  none  of  them  were  "  leery  "  on  this 
day. 

It  was  at  mess  that  evening  while  we  five  officers 
were  being  neatly  served  with  our  cosy  dinner, 
that  the  sounds  of  a  couple  of  shots  rang  out  on 
the  evening  air ! 

"  That's  for  you,  Mr.  Officer  of  the  Day,"  curtly 
said  the  Colonel.  Grasping  my  sword,  and  run- 
ning over  the  parade,  followed  by  a  Corporal's 
guard,  I  found  that  Sergeant  Maloney  was  locked 
in  his  room.  With  a  spring,  the  Corporal  of  the 
Guard  and  myself  went  through  the  door !  We 
were  obliged  to  temporarily  place  the  excited 
Sergeant  in  the  guard  house  for  safety. 

It  was  the  work  of  that  universal  devil — the  in- 
visible spirit  of  wine  !  There  was  no  excitement 
in  the  barracks,  for  a  real  discipline  was  always 
maintained,  but,  on  my  return  to  report  the  un- 
happy "  break  "  to  the  Colonel,  I  found  that  Ser- 
geant Hand  had  already  reported  to  the  Com- 
mander that  he  had  been  fired  upon  twice,  from 
Maloney's  window,  although  he  saw  no  one.  I 
was  at  once  directed  to  return  and  secure  the  Ser- 
geant's gun.  It  was  easy  for  me  to  see,  a  half 
hour  later,  that  some  quick-witted  friend  had 
cooled  the  barrel  and  wiped  the  piece  out  in  the 
interval  since  the  shooting.  A  kindly  master 
stroke  of  old  soldier  wit ! 

But,  it  all  looked  black  enough,  on  this  night 
before  the  Court,  until  the  Surgeon  astonished  Jack 
and    myself    with   a   few   well-put    observations. 


IK)\V    U|,   (  < )  I    K  1  -  M  A  K  I  I  A  I  I   I )      I   RG1   AN   I    HALO  N  B  V       >6] 

44  I'm  not  on  the  Court,"  he  said,  between  pilfffl  ;it 
his  pipe,  "and  I  can  show  you  a  dirty  bit  of  ground 
hog  work!  There's  no  love  lost  between  Hand, 
who  is  an  Ameriean,  wears  Burnside  whiskers, 
and  hopes  for  some  future  favor  by  bootlicking  the 
Commander,  and  poor  Mike.  Sergeant  Hand  has 
saved  money.  He  gets  a  heavy  '  travel  pay  '  and 
hopes  to  be  made  Post  Sutler,  and  so  grow  rich. 
In  the  hospital,  I  get  all  the  men's  chatter  through 
my  Hospital  Steward.  Hand  has  some  crony  rec- 
ommended for  promotion,  among  the  ten  sergeants 
and  ten  corporals,  and — Maloney  was  never  drunk 
before !  Now,  I  can  almost  swear  that  poor 
Mike's  enemies  put  all  those  men  on  to  him,  who 
went  off  on  pass,  to  drink  successively  with  him, 
and  so,  lead  him  away  ! 

11  They,  the  old  soakers,  all  came  home  sober. 
Poor  Maloney  has  been  victimized,  and  he  may 
have  realized  his  condition,  and  sees  now  what  he 
lost.  The  real  author  of  the  job  is  this  slick  Ser- 
geant Hand,  or  his  friends.  Maloney,  in  despera- 
tion, may  have  taken  a  couple  of  cracks  at  him, 
but,  Rand  did  not  see  the  shooter!  Maloney 's 
gun  was  clean  !  I  think  it's  a  case  for  '  executive 
clemency  ! '  " 

"If  I  believed  this,"  cried  the  warmhearted 
Jack,  "  he  shall  not  lose  his  stripes.  See  here, 
Sawbones,  you  can  talk  to  each  of  us  alone,  about 
this.  Find  out  what  you  can,  and  we  will  see — 
what  we  shall  see  ! " 

The    undercurrent     of    garrison     lite     is    often 


262      HOW  WE  COURT-MARTIALED  SERGEANT  MALONEY 

stranger  than  the  official  flood  tide,  foaming  along 
on  the  surface.  When  the  Garrison  Court  assem- 
bled the  next  day  at  ten,  there  was  a  peculiar  in- 
terest manifested  by  every  one  on  the  post.  But 
the  three  members  of  the  Court  never*  exchanged 
a  word  until  the  Court  was  called  to  order  in  the 
presence  of  the  commanding  officer  and  the  guard 
and  orderly  as  sole  spectators.  With  due  solem- 
nity, the  prisoner  was  introduced,  and  Sergeant 
Michael  Maloney  entered  far  paler  than  when  he 
fired  point  blank  into  the  faces  of  Hood's  Texans 
springing  up  the  rugged  slopes  at  Gaines's  Mills ! 
He  was  a  model  of  soldierly  neatness  and  sym- 
metry, devoid  only  of  the  treasured  Sergeant's 
sword  upon  which  he  had  expended  three  years 
of  polishing,  till  its  Corinthian  brass  mountings 
gleamed  like  the  gold  of  Ophir ! 

His  sad  eyes  roved  over  the  silver  castles  on  the 
epaulets  of  his  three  judges,  and,  in  an  awe- 
struck silence,  he  heard  the  orders  appointing  the 
Court  read,  and  listened  to  the  swearing-in  of  the 
Court  and  the  Recorder.  When  asked  if  he  had 
an  objection  to  being  tried  by  any  particular 
member  of  the  Court,  his  eyes  rested  upon  all  of  us 
in  succession.  He  bowed  his  head  in  manly  nega- 
tion, which  was  simply  touching.  I  rejoiced  that, 
as  a  Garrison  court,  we  could  not  administer  the  ex- 
tremest  penalties,  for  I  had  heard  more  of  the 
sneaking  conspiracy  which  had  effected  the  sim- 
ple Sergeant's  ruin.  I  fancied  that  the  Surgeon 
had  also  privately  enlightened  my  colleagues ! 


Hhu    WE  C0UR1    MARTIALED  SERGEANT  MAL0NE1       263 

It  was  a  painful  task  for  me  to  read  tin-  charge — 
under  the  ninety-ninth  article:  "Conduct  preju- 
dicial to  good  order  and  military  discipline."  The 
specification,  which  I  had  been  forced  to  draw 
with  much  useless  flourish  of  antiquated  verbiage, 
was  strong  enough  to  fell  an  ox.  It  was  after  this 
interesting  ceremony  that  Handsome  Jack,  Looking 
like  a  robust  Cupid-in-arms,  informed  the  prisoner 
that  he  was  entitled  to  the  assistance  of  counsel, 
to  be  selected  from  the  military  persons  of  the 
garrison. 

There  was  a  convulsive  sob  racking  brave 
Michael  Maloney's  breast,  as  he  shook  his  head 
and  brushed  his  face  with  the  sleeve  marked  with 
four  service-stripes. 

He  declined  the  assistance  of  counsel,  and  I 
then,  formally  arraigned  him,  and  was  astounded 
to  hear  him,  in  a  broken  voice,  plead  guilty  to  the 
specification,  and  guilty  to  the  charge.  The  three 
members  of  the  court  gazed  blankly  at  each  other. 
The  pleas  cut  off  the  necessity  of  the  introduction 
of  evidence,  in  fact,  there  was  no  official  evidence 
available,  save  the  excited  condition  of  the  man 
wrhen  his  room  door  was  forced. 

Our  Commander  hastily  left  us  at  this  legal  sur- 
render of  the  unhappy  man. 

I  deemed  it  my  duty  to  inform  the  prisoner  that 
he  was  entitled  to  make  a  brief  oral  or  written 
statement  by  virtue  of  his  plea.  The  pool-  fellow 
stood  "before  his  betters"  and  huskily  said: 
"Gentlemen  !   I  leave  it  all  to  you  !    1  have  always 


264      HOW  WE  COURT-MARTIALED  SERGEANT  MALONEY 

tried  to  be  a  good  soldier,  and  it's  idle  for  me,  a 
poor  Sergeant,  to  say  that  I'm  not  bound  to  know- 
good  order  and  military  discipline.  I've  know  my 
whole  duty  these  many  years.  I  was  born  in  the 
army!" 

There  was  an  awkward  silence  as  the  prisoner 
was  returned  to  his  quarters  in  charge  of  the 
guard,  and  the  last  look  of  his  sorrowful  face  was 
a  good-by — a  long  good-by  to  his  chevrons  !  He 
had  opened  the  door  to  his  own  degradation  as 
far  as  rank  and  promotion  went.  One  fault,  the 
fault  of  the  hot-headed  and  gallant  Celt,  the  one 
spot  upon  his  faultless  record  had  marred  the 
clean  record  of  years  of  brave  service,  of  drudg- 
ery, and  grinding  privation ! 

In  silence,  I  prepared  a  dozen  or  more  folded 
ballots,  all  of  similar  appearance,  marking  them 
"Guilty"  and  "Not  Guilty."  As  became  the 
younger,  I  voted  first,  and  handed  the  hat  to  the 
others  for  their  secret  selection  and  vote.  The 
voting  was  done  without  discussion.  When  the 
record  of  the  votes  upon  the  specification  and 
charge  was  correctly  announced  by  me,  there 
was  a  majority  recording  the  fact  that  the  absent 
prisoner  was  not  guilty  of  either  the  charge  or  the 
specification  !     An  astounding  verdict ! 

There  is  a  wholesome  special  obligation  of  the 
oath  of  the  Judge  Advocate  and  Recorder  which 
absolutely  forbids  him  from  disclosing  the  vote  of 
a  "  particular  member."  From  that  day  to  this, 
1  have  never  known  who  cast  the  majority  votes 


how  \vi.  COURT-MARTIALED  SERGEANT  MALONKV     |6j 

which  in  face  of    a  plea  of  "guilty"    declared 

Sergeant  Michael  Maloney,of  Ours  to  be  innocent! 
I  may  have  had  some  personal  ideas,  but  my  oath 
would  not  allow  me  to  indulge  in  "vain  con- 
jectures." There  were  other  prisoners  tried 
afterwards  before  this  famous  Court,  who  re- 
ceived very  moderate  punishments  for  trifling 
offenses. 

When  the  result  of  the  trial  of  Maloney  was  re- 
luctantly announced  to  the  commanding  officer,  in 
answer  to  a  direct  question  at  mess,  I  was  glad 
that  Handsome  Jack  gallantly  "  leaped  into  the 
chasm."  The  Colonel  rose  and  "left  the  rich 
meats  all  untasted,"  storming  out  of  the  room! 
For  three  days,  we  were  denied  the  light  of  his 
countenance,  save  when  he  sent  his  orderly  for  us, 
officially.  I  was  happy  and  busy  in  my  duplex 
functions  and  I  escaped  the  storm. 

As  Post  Adjutant,  I  was  gruffly  ordered  to  re- 
lease "  Maloney  from  arrest  and  restore  him  to 
duty — chevrons  and  all !  "  As  Recorder  of  the 
Court,  I  was  bidde  not  to  make  up  the  record  of 
this  case  of  legally  "  squaring  the  circle."  The 
proceedings  in  re  Maloney  were  all  quashed. 
Lightly  as  the  roe,  I  sped  away  to  the  sergeant's 
room.  When  I  entered,  he  had  the  haggard  look 
of  impending  disaster.  When  I  left  the  strong 
man  sobbing  at  his  table,  he  had  stopped  an  im- 
promptu oration  while  saying:  "Liftinint!  Tell 
the  gintlemen  av  the  Coort— "  for,  his  flood  of 
pent-up  sorrows  swayed  him  as  the  wild  rain  gusts 
shake  the  bending  pines  ! 


266      HOW  WE  COURT-MARTIALED  SERGEANT  MALONEY 

"  Maloney's  bad  break"  was  his  only  one !  His 
rosy  face  shone  out  in  ranks  for  years,  untinged 
with  "  spiritus  frumenti"  and  yet,  he  did  not  get 
his  Orderly  Sergeant's  lozenge  until  a  long  year 
later.  Sergeant  Hand  had  left  us  for  good  and  all. 
I  was  cut  off  the  next  year  in  the  Arizona  deserts 
with  four  of  our  men  on  duty,  to  face  a  possible 
starvation,  when  I  found  a  bullet-headed  sapper 
secretly  adding  his  allowance  of  food  to  mine  by 
hiding  it  under  my  desert  pillow.  "  What  do  you 
mean  by  this?"  I  demanded  of  the  shamefaced 
Riley.  He  mumbled  :  "  You  gave  Mike  Maloney 
a  square  deal !  We  had  all  got  round  him  to  fill 
him  up  just  for  a  lark  !  There  was  them  as  would 
ruin  him,  we  found  out,  later  !  Damme  if  I  know 
how  you  found  him  '  Not  guilty  ' ;  but — we  was 
all  played  on  -  ■  ?jA—you  did  the  square  thing  !  " 


Archibald  Clavering  Gunter's 
Celebrated  Works 


THE  MOST  SUCCESSFUL   NOVELS   OF  THE  AGE 


Mr.   Barnes  of  New  York 

Mr.   Potter  of  Texas 

That  Frenchman 

Miss  Nobody  of  Nowhere 
Miss  Dividends 
Baron  Montez  of  Panama  and  Paris 
A  Princess  of  Paris 

The  King's  Stockbroker 

The  First  of  The  English 

The   Ladies'  Juggernaut 
Her  Senator 
Don  Balasco  of  Key  West 
Bob  Covington 

^.      „  r  TT7  (  Part    I — Susan  TurnbvJl 

The  Power  of  Woman  |         ■ 

I  Part  II — Ballyho  Bey 


CLOTH,  GILT  TOP,  $1.25  PAPER,  50  CENTS 


For  sale  by  all  booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid   on 
receipt  of  price  by  the  publishers 

THE   HOME   PUBLISHING    CO. 
3  East  Fourteenth  Street  New  York 


My  Official  Wife 

BY 

Col.  RICHARD    HENRY   SAVAGE. 


What  America  says  of  it. 

"One  of  the  most  entertaining  books  of  the  season. 
It  reads  strangely  like  one  of  Gunter's  masterpieces." 

— Rochester  Sunday  Times,  June  14th,  1891. 

"In  it  the  most  exciting  complications  arise,  making 
the  story  one  of  absorbing  interest." 

— Cleveland  Plaindealer,  June  14th,  1891. 

"  It  would  be  hard  to  find  a  more  exciting 
story  than  '  My  Official  Wife.'  A  series  of  events 
and  situations  which  increase  in  excitement, 
mystery  and  danger.  A  book  through  which  the 
reader  will  dash  with  wild  eagerness." 

—NEW  YORK  HERALD,  June  21st,  1891. 

What  En  rope  says  of  it. 

*  Far  beyond  the  average.      Exceedingly  powerful 
and  exciting." — Newcastle  Chronicle,  July  10th,  1891. 

"  One  of  the  ablest  of  its  kind." 

— Carlisle  Patriot,  July  nth,  1891. 

"  Deserves  to  be  one  of  the  most  popular  tales  of  the 
season." — The  Morning  Post,  London,  July  15th,  1891. 

"Plenty  of  dash  and  go." 

— Saturday  Revieiu,  July  18th,  1891. 

"Wonderfully   clever," 

—LONDON  TIMES,  August  lOth,  1891. 

"A  delightful  story." — Tauchnitz,  Leipsig. 


FOR   SALE    EVERYWHERE. 

THE  HOME  PUBLISHING  CO.,  3  East  14th  Street,  N.  I 


What  the  Press  Say  of 

His  Cuban 

Sweetheart 

BY 

Col.   RICHARD    HENRY    SAVAGE 

(Author  of  "MY  OFFICIAL  WIFE,"  Etc.) 

AND 

Mrs.   ARCHIBALD  CLAVERINQ  GUNTER 

'If  you  have  a  leisure  afternoon  it  will  send   the 
hours  flying." — New  York  Herald,  Feb.  8th,  1896. 

<;  At  this  time  the  pictures  of  Cuban  life  and  Spanish 
tyranny  will  be  particularly  interesting." 

— Daily  Advertiser,  Elmira,  N.  Y. 

"  Thoroughly    interesting,    full     of    glowing    color, 
artistically  handled." — Boston  Ideas,  Feb.  28th,  1896. 

"The    reader    will    not    be   willing   to   put   it   down 
until  it  is  finished." 

— Picayune,  New  Orleans,  Feb.  9th,  1896. 

Paper,  50  Cents.  Cloth,  $1,00, 

Sent  postpaid  to  any  address  on  receipt  of  pnce. 

THE  HOME  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

NEW   YORK. 


Her   Foreign 
Conquest 


BY 


Col.  Richard    Henry  Savage 

AUTHOR    OF 

"My  Official  Wife,"  etc.,  etc. 

"That  brilliant  writer,  Col.  R.  H.  Savage,  has  added 
another  success  to  his  considerable  list  of  society  novels." 

—  The  Westminster  Review. 

"A  novel  on  which  Col.  Savage  is  to  be  truly  con- 
gratulated."— Boston  Ideas. 

"The  plot  is  skillfully  constructed;  the  characters  file 
before  us  with  vivid  personality;  the  style  is  strong, 
iluent,  and  unfaltering,  and  from  the  first  page  to  the 
last  the  story  sweeps  along  with  dash  and  swing." 

—  The  Home  Journal. 

Cloth,  $1.00  Paper,  50c. 

Sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price 

THE     HOME     PUBLISHING    COMPANY 

3  East  \%\\\  Si.,  New  York 


NOW  READY 


An  Exile 
from  London 


A  Story  of  Startling  Adventure 
and  Charming  Romance .... 


*  *  »    MjX    .  .  . 

COL.  RICHARD  HENRY  SAVAGE 

Author  of 
MY  OFFICIAL  WIFE,  Etc.,  Etc. 

Paper,  50c.  Cloth,  $1.00 

Sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price 


THE  HOME  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

3  EAST  FOURTEENTH  STREET 
NEW  YORK 


"Mr.  Gunter's  books  are 


more   generally  read   than 
perhaps    those     of    any 


OTHER     LIVING     WRITER." 


The  Times. 


London,  Eng.,  Nov. 4, 1888. 


OPINIONS     OS- 

THE    GREAT    NOVEL, 

Mr.  Barnes 

of  New  York. 

ENGLAND, 

u  There  is  no  reason  for  surprise  at  'Mr.  Barnes' 
being  a  big  hit." — The  Referee,  London,  March  25th. 

"Exciting  and  interesting" — The  Graphic, 

"  '  Marina  Paoli ' — a  giant  character — just  as  strong 
as  *  Fedora/  " — Illustrated  London  News. 

"A  capital  story — most  people  have  read  it — -I 
recommend  it  to  all  the  others." 

— James  Payne  in  Illustrated  London  News* 

AMERICA. 

"Told  with  the  genius  of  Alexander  Dumas,  the 
Elder." — Amusement  Gazette. 

"Have  you  read  '  Mr.  Barnes  of  New  York  ? '  If 
no,  go  and  read  it  at  once,  and  thank  me  for  suggesting 
it.  ...  I  want  to  be  put  on  record  as  saying  '  it  is 
the  best  story  of  the  day — the  best  I  have  read  in  ten 
years.' " — Joe  Howard  in  Boston  Globe. 

But  at  that   time   Mr.   Howard  had 
not  read 

"Mr.  Potter  of  Texas/1 


JUST  OUT 

BOB  COVINGTON 

A  NOVEL 

BY 

Archibald  Clavering  Gunter 


"  Of  intense  interest." — 67.  Louis  Star 

"There  is  not  a  dull  line  between   the  covers." 

— St.  Louis  Post-Despatch 


Cloth,  $1.25         Paper,  50  cts. 
vSent,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of  price 

THE  HOME  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

3   East    14111   Strei  1 
Xr.w    York 


Don  Balasco 
Of  Key  West 

BY 

ARCHIBALD    CLAVERING    GUNTER 

AUTHOR    OF 

"Mr.  Barnes  of  New  York";    "A  Princess  of  Paris"; 
"The  King's  Stockbroker,"  Etc.,  Etc. 


The  first  thing  we  have  to  say  after  reading  this  marvelous  story  of  ad- 
renture,  intrigue,  deception,  Spanish  brutality,  Cuban  patriotism,  love  and 
fidelity,  sacrifice  and  heroism,  and  the  inexcusably  cold  indifference  of  the 
United  States  Government :  that  cold  and  criminally  apathetic  must  be  the 
heart  of  the  man  who  does  not  at  once  become  an  ardent  sympathizer  and  a 

beneficent  actor  with  the  Cubans  struggling  for  life  and  liberty 

.  .  The  description  of  the  West  Indies  by  the  gifted  author — of  the  seas  and 
islands,  and  of  the  people— American,  Spanish,  and  Cuban— and  of  the  climate, 
and  of  the  manners,  and  customs,  and  temperaments  of  a  volatile  people,  is  a 
piece  of  word  painting  truly  sublime  and  fascinating. 

— Christian  Leader,  Cincinnati,  Ohio. 


Plenty  of  the  romance,  excitement,  and  surprise  for  which  Mr.  Gunter's 
novels  are  noted. — Boston  Journal. 


Have  you  read  Mr.  Archibald  Clavering  Gunter's  latest  story  ?  If  not, 
get  a  copy  at  once  at  the  nearest  news-stand .  Before  you  begin  it,  however, 
eat  a  good  square  meal,  for  you  will  not  eat  again  until  you  have  finished  the 
book.     Thai  is  true  of  all  his  stories. —  The  Rochester  Courier. 


CLOTH,  $1.00.  PAPER,  50  Cents. 

Sent  post-paid  on  receipt  of  price. 


THE  HOME   PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

3  East  14th  Street,  New  York 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 


LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 

LIBRARY  USE 

NOV    21AR7 

fstC'u  LO 

NJV     2  1Ck7 

tt\  01    -iaa™  e  »cc                                          General  Library 

MI09G88 


r* 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


